The Bringer Of War
by thetriumphator
Summary: A man from a world set on fire finds one in a long period of tenuous peace. The people of Remnant will soon find that even in a world of bloody evolution, war...war never changes. Tale of Two Wastelands character.
1. Chapter 1 - A Fortunate Tragedy

**AN: On Hiatus**

Chapter 1 - A Fortunate Tragedy

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Sunbeams fell as heavily as rain on the uncovered head of a lone walker. The oppressive heat of the day caused shimmering heat haze all along the horizon. Nothing except cacti grew in the blasted desert of the Mojave. Its sands partially concealed many of the remaining structures, entombing the monuments to a bygone era. The solitary figure continued his swift march through the inhospitable landscape as wind gently pelted him with sand and fluttered his duster. Even in the face of the intense solar radiation hitting it through the weakened atmosphere, the two headed bear emblazoned on the back of the duster remained uncowed. As the trail the man left in the sand became obscured by soft, curling gusts no greater than ankle height, an observer might wonder at the identity of this peculiar individual and how he had ended up in this simultaneously desolate and picturesque landscape. The answer to that question was a story that consisted mostly of death.

Markus Friedrich was a man of many names. Few knew his given name, even fewer used it. In the Capital wasteland he was dubbed the Lone Wanderer, in the Mojave he was known as Courier Six, or simply as The Courier. His enemies gave him their own names. The Legion called him Thanatos, the god of death, and they feared him even more than they did the Burned Man, as there was no question of whether he lived. The Enclave had designated him "Apollyon". There was the irony of coincidence in this christening, though only those few who had studied scripture after the apocalypse would recognize it. The Biblical Angel of the Abyss was perceived nearly as ambiguously as he was; considered a Lucifer by his enemies and a Messiah to those he allied with. Despite hailing him as a hero, the NCR high command remained wary of him, realizing that if he turned on them, their days would be numbered and therefore attempted to get him out of their affairs as soon as possible.

In the days following the NCR's victory at second battle of Hoover dam, the Courier found himself spending increasing amounts of time in the Big Empty. As one of the brightest minds of the twenty-third century, he, with the aid of the Think Tank, pushed the boundaries of science further than they had ever gone before. Now that the war with the Legion was firmly in the hands of the NCR who were more than capable of finishing off the dying empire, the Lone Courier had turned his attention to less violent ways of improving the universal standard of living. Of course, the Courier's strict morals imposed on them prevented many of the Think Tank's less ethical ideas from harming the people of of the Mojave wasteland. Still, science flourished once again in the crater that was the Big Empty, and not long after the Courier's arrival, a prototype Transportalponder was ready to be tested.

This Transportalponder Mk. II would form the basis for a revolution of transportation in the wasteland. The new version would be able to take a person from the place of activation to a set point, in this case the sink, and back to the initial position of activation. In addition to this, the range would be increased to cover the entire continent. It was easy to imagine the benefits of such a technology. Such technology would allow the NCR to more efficiently maintain a vast nation without a network of infrastructure that was virtually impossible to rebuild without industrial centers. These devices could put the entire continent decades ahead of where it was now and speed the eventually rebuilding of civilization through unification of all the isolated pockets of humanity.

The most difficult feature to implement had been extended range. Therefore, in order to test this, the Lone Courier left Big Mountain began to the trek to the pre-war train station that ran between the Mojave and Capital wastelands.

The NCR had largely forgotten about Courier after the award ceremony and he, for his part, was content to be forgotten. He had no real investment in the NCR, he supported it merely because he had found it the most moral option. Not that there was much competition. The corruption and inefficiency that were the vices of the NCR paled in comparison to the detriments of the other options. The brutality and backwardness of the Legion made the organization's very existence a crime against humanity. House's plans for a dictatorial police state ruled by a man on life support and an army of robots was also an unattractive alternative.

The Second Battle for Hoover Dam, and the conflicts preceding it, had left the Courier hardened and cynical, having a pessimistic view of human nature. Yet, he still retained the belief that one man could change the course of history. That particular lesson was one taught to him by the other Courier Six, Ulysses. The Lone Courier still had not checked up on him following the Battle of the Divide. Nor had he returned to Zion to see the progress of the tribes now that the White Legs had been eliminated.

He still felt guilt about the fate of the members of the Happy Trails Caravan. Both the lives he had taken and those he had failed to save weighed heavily on the shoulders of one too young to bear them. Despite his successes, the ordeals the seventeen year old had been through left him with permanent mental scars and issues that he had no way of resolving. It was true that in the heat of battle he felt little emotion in killing. The Burned Man had once told him that killing when done righteously, was a chore. And in battle, he agreed with that sentiment. However, once the dust settled and there was no threat to his life, he felt sympathy and towards those he had killed, not knowing whether they were evil or merely victims of the circumstance. This was accompanied by an immeasurable and not entirely rational guilt.

His fairly routine reflection on his own psychological state was interrupted by his arrival at his destination. The train station was in much the same condition that he had left it in. That is, dilapidated and dangerously decayed. Some feral ghouls had taken up residence in the area. They were hardly a threat to the Courier, and six rounds from A Light Shining in Darkness later, six bodies were on the floor. Each had a single bullet wound in the exact center of its forehead.

A sudden wind caused the Courier's duster to flutter much like the flag which was emblazoned on its back. His sunglasses shielded his eyes from the dust of the Mojave that the draft blew through the desolate train station.

It had been months since he had first arrived in the Mojave. Unfortunately, as a result of a near fatal dose of acute lead poisoning, he had forgotten all events that had occurred between boarding the train in the Capital wasteland and waking up in Goodsprings. While some would be concerned by the loss of memory, he was merely thankful that the loss had not been more extensive. He could have easily woken up with no idea who he was.

Once he had boarded the train he sat down and prepared for hours of boredom as the automated vehicle traveled across the continent. Eventually, lost in his thoughts, he drifted off into an uneasy sleep plagued by nightmares and phantoms of the dead.

The piercing squeal of the brakes brought him out of his unconscious self torture. Drawing A Light Shining in Darkness, he stood, and cautiously approached the door. He stopped and listened for a moment. The telltale growls of feral ghouls greeted him. The Courier slammed the door open and activated VATS.

His Pip-boy sent electronic signals to his brain that caused time to appear to have stopped. He could still move, albeit extremely slowly. Four targets sighted. Three were on the ground level while one was on the upper level of the train station. He targeted them on his Pip-boy. Four suppressed rounds discharged. Four bodies hit the floor. All created a singular dull thud. It was over in less than a second. Quickly swapping mags, he then surveyed the area for additional targets. He saw none. Now that the location appeared to be clear, the Lone Courier prepared to test the new and improved transportalponder MK. II.

Despite his pleading (or as he insisted on calling it "well reasoned arguments") with the Think Tank to rename the transportalponder to something less silly, or at least with less syllables, they were adamant that its name remain the same. The Courier eventually gave up (realizing that attempting to reason with them was a foolish idea in the first place) and settled on renaming it without their knowledge if it ever went to mass production.

Atomizing A Light Shining in Darkness and summoning the transportalponder MK. II in its place. He held the device at about shoulder height and depressed the trigger. The new version, owing to its more powerful nature required a nearly half a minute to activate. While this was an inconvenience, the Courier was not overly concerned as he did not use it in combat situations to avoid it being damaged. As soon as the transportalponder started charging, With a large amount of dramatic irony, he suddenly heard someone yell,

"It's him!."

His head snapped to the source of the exclamation. Metal helmet, weird bug eyes, there was no doubt who it was: the Enclave. An Enclave squad had wandered onto the upper level while he had been absorbed in using his Pip-boy he had failed to notice them enter the area. There was one officer, two hellfire troopers, and one with a Tesla, who had identified him.

 _"Damn, those Enclave bastards just don't know when they've lost,"_ the Courier thought to himself, " _Well, time to add four more to my body count."_

Despite this confidence, the Lone Wanderer was aware that he was in an undesirable situation; he was not wearing any significant armor. This was an experiment after all, not a combat mission. While he was confident that he could operate his Pip-boy one-handed, once he had equipped his armor he would not be able to wield a weapon as long as the transportalponder was activating.

His plans were thrown into disarray when the transportalponder started to glow with blinding light forcing the Courier to avert his eyes even though he was wearing sunglasses. Seeing this, the Enclave troopers began to blind fire at the Lone Wanderer. While the projectiles missed, even near perfect luck can take one only so far as, much to the Courier's horror, the Tesla cannon beam collided directly with the transportalponder. The device began to glow green and became hot in his hand. The beeps became more frequent and intense. The Lone Couriers last words before being sucked into the portal were, "Oh son of a…"

Despite the efforts of many individuals and organizations in both wastelands, the Lone Courier was not to be found. That did not however, stop the Brotherhood of Steel and the Outcasts from massacring the Enclave in retribution. Despite others having given up the search, the Brains in the Big Empty continued to search for their CEO and missing technology, experimenting with portals of decreasing stability and increasing power.

This incident would further prove Ulysses right. Not only could a single man change the course of history, but the Courier could change two worlds.

* * *

AN: This character is a result of a heavily modded playthrough I did. Notable mods include TTW (Tale of Two Wastelands), Project Nevada, Weapons of the New Millennium, as well as several more perk mods. This character is a "Lone Courier", meaning that the Lone Wanderer and Courier Six are the same person. I will be ignoring the time gap between the two games as it has no practical effect. The Lone Wanderer also left Vault 101 earlier in this universe so that he is the same age as the other students at Beacon. You may not recognize some of the weapons of the Lone Courier but they are weapons from the real world. The Lone Courier will be relatively overpowered. This is intentional. The purpose of this story is not to compare the power of Fallout and RWBY. Unlike most fanfictions of this nature, the Lone Courier will not be saying "I'm from another dimension, can I go your school now?" Instead, he will do what he normally does if he needs information in a strange place: he will infiltrate Beacon. Seeing as Jaune accomplished this, a master hacker with experience in this kind of thing should have little trouble.

Complete list of stats and items has been moved to Chapter 22.

Here is a list of stats that the character possesses. This can easily be ignored if it's too boring for you. Its main purpose is for the reader's reference.

Character Stats:

Gender: Male

Name: Markus Friedrich

Race: Caucasian

Aliali: The Lone Wanderer, Mr. 101, "that kid from vault 101", the Courier, Apollyon

SPECIAL Stats:

Strength:10(+)

Perception: 10

Endurance: 10

Charisma: 10

Intelligence: 10

Agility: 10

Luck: 9

Skills:

Barter:80

Energy Weapons:90

Explosives:100

Guns:100

Lockpick:100

Medicine:100

Melee Weapons:100(+)

Lockpick: 100

Medicine:100

Melee:100

Repair:100

Science:100

Sneak:100

Speech:100

Survival:92

Unarmed:90


	2. Chapter 2 - Contact

Chapter 2 - Contact

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AN: I am aware that the first chapter was fairly generic and can (and potentially will) be used as the intro to other crossovers. As I spent an ungodly amount of time creating this character, so intend to write about it until I run it into the ground. Reviews are appreciated as feedback is needed for improvement. This chapter will be first of the proper crossover.

"...bitch!" The Lone Courier finished as he was violently thrust from the portal and onto a surprisingly soft and very green surface.

Once the blinding light from the portal had subsided, the Courier could see where he had landed. The surface he had landed on was lush, living grass with the deep brown of wet soil underneath it. Upon looking up, he realized that he was in a forest. Not a series of burned husks or diseased pines, but an honest to God living healthy, forest. His first question was where this all had come from.

This place was healthier than Oasis or Vault 22 and seemed entirely peaceful. He heard nothing, nothing at all. Not that this place couldn't be hiding danger, but his first impression of this place was that he was in Eden.

The revelation of his location caused mixed feelings. While he was in the wonder at the sheer amount of life surrounding him, he was also worried as he now had no idea where he was. What was worse, was that upon checking his Pip-boy, he found that it could not establish a connection to a satellite. This further worried him as Rob-co satellites were supposed to have global coverage.

This meant that either the area he was in was being jammed, or something had happened to one of the satellites. The second option was the more likely. It had been two hundred years after all. There was plenty of time for something to have happened. This still left him with the problem that until he either entered the range of another of the satellites or found a paper map, he would be wandering aimlessly.

The density and health of the foliage suggested extensive use of a, or multiple, GECK(s). He could not see very far in any direction beyond the clearing he had landed in. Innumerable tree trunks and thick undergrowth blocked his vision. To the Lone Wanderer, it was unthinkable that this much life existed anywhere naturally. As much as he hated to admit it, Vault-tec seemed to have done some good.

Since he had not heard of any area such as this while travelling through the Capital wasteland or in the Mojave, he deduced that he was no longer in North America. Rumors of this place would have certainly reached him if it had been on continental America. It was much more likely he was in what was once Europe as the species of trees were not consistent with those native to Asia, Africa, or Australia.

Since he was no longer anywhere familiar, he felt his ultimate goal would be to find a way back. Despite how lush the land is, he felt a responsibility towards the people of the wastes and his companions not to abandon them. As well, there was not much for him to do in a forest, as nice at it was being there. There were problems that needed solving back in the Mojave. Pondering his return, the Courier turned his gaze towards the Transportalponder MK. II. that was still smoldering on the ground near him.

The plastic casing had melted in some places and the circuit boards were sparking. To attempt to use it in this condition would likely do nothing except damage it further. Digitizing the heavily damaged device, he drew his silenced M14.

His first order of business in finding his way home would be to find and make contact with any civilization that was in the area. Any attempt to repair the Transportalponder would require specialized equipment and advanced technology. Civilization was the only place where he could acquire either of those.

While it was entirely possible that the residents of this place did not speak English, the Courier had learned several of the European languages (Intelligence 10) including German, French, Russian, Latin, Spanish, and a little Greek as well as Asian languages such as Chinese due to a surprising amount of surviving literature being in languages other than English. His lingual ability meant that should the locals speak either a pre-war language or a derivation of one (like the tribes of Zion) he should still be able to communicate well enough for his purposes.

The Lone Wanderer decided to set off south from his point of arrival. It was as good a direction as any, and exploring was genuinely his best option at this point. The local map function of his Pip-boy remained functional and recorded his path.

The height of the trees obscured the sun making it difficult to estimate the time of day. However, the fact that it was getting slowly darker indicated it was the early evening.

The trees were spaced so that the Lone Wanderer had adequate line of sight to use his scoped M14. Eventually, he found a swift river of decent width and depth. It was strange for him to see so much pure water naturally. Even the water in the Mojave wasn't entirely radiation free. The rushing sound of the water was harsh to his ears and contrasted strangely with the utter peace he saw.

The Lone Wanderer knew that many cities and settlements were built along rivers in order to have a source of fresh water. Therefore, he felt that his best bet would be to follow the river. The only question was whether to go upstream or downstream. The purity of the water indicated that if there was a settlement it would be downstream. So the Courier adjusted his course to follow the river downstream.

It was concerning to the Lone Courier that he had yet to encounter any wildlife. Typically in both the Mojave and the Capital wasteland even if he couldn't see any animals, he could certainly hear them. If GECK's had been used, he should have encountered the local fauna by now. The lack of sounds of nature filled him with a sense of foreboding. He kept his M14 shouldered.

The rush of the river was briefly interrupted by a howl in the distance. In an instant he raised his rifle in the direction of the sound and shifted to a crouch. To the Courier it sounded much like a coyote. However, he knew that assuming he was in Europe like he suspected, it was probably a wolf or a mutated version of one. The initial call was answered by others. All sounded directly in the path of the Lone Wanderer.

He advanced silently, wraithlike in the long shadows of the evening. Then, he stopped abruptly, what disturbed the otherwise tranquil forest now in his sight.

To the Courier, the strange creature looked like a mix between a deathclaw and a Yao Guai. However, it appeared to be far weaker than either. It lacked the long claws and nearly bulletproof skin of a deathclaw as well as the sheer mass of a Yao Guai.

He scanned the creature with his AR scanner implant. The augmentation confirmed that the animal was both a low threat and hostile towards him. No surprises there.

He looked down his scope and aligned the beast's head in its crosshairs. Through the scope, he noticed a bone "mask," a kind of exoskeleton that covered its face. Other similar protrusions covered the creature's body. While this caused him to pause briefly to consider whether the mask would impede the round, he ultimately concluded that it was not thick enough. Bone was not a very bullet proof material as over penetration would attest to.

He exhaled, steadying his aim, and squeezed the trigger. The .308 full metal jacket round tore through the air. The subsonic ammunition lacked the kinetic force that standard ammunition possessed in exchange for also lacking the sonic boom that gave away the user's position. He did not want to draw more of them to him.

The bone mask was shattered by the hot lead before it messily exited the creature's skull, tearing a fist sized hole in its cranium, and tumbled through the air before embedding itself into a tree.

The Lone Courier cautiously advanced towards the downed animal with his weapon trained on it to confirm the kill. The creature made no movements. However, as he approached the body it suddenly started to dissolve. Not turn to ash or goo like from an energy weapon, but actually disintegrating independently. This defied all science that the Lone Wanderer knew of. Within a few seconds, the body had disappeared entirely. While it was nowhere near the strangest thing he had seen, it added further mystery to this land that he found himself in.

Despite the fact that his weapon is suppressed, it quickly became evident that the death of the creature had not been unnoticed by its fellows. For lack of a better name, the Courier came to mentally call the creatures Guaiclaws. While he realized that the name was terrible and uninspired, he decided to go with it until he found a better one. In his mind, the name was still better than those the Think Tank came up with. Not that he was bitter about that or anything.

Definitely not.

Several of these Guaiclaws came into view of the Courier.

Realizing that there were an unknown number of these creatures that were hid by the foliage, the Land Wanderer switched from his Courier duster into his elite riot gear. In the dull green colored armor, he was nearly invisible against the vibrant flora of the background. He switched to the infrared vision setting on his helmet and he quickly saw that his choice was a good one. The area behind the Guaiclaws that were visible with the naked eye was crawling with activity of more creatures that were of a similar size.

There was only one way this would end. He summoned his ZM LE-300 and detached the suppressor. He then switched to 5.56 hollowpoint rounds. It was time to go loud.

 _"Let's get this started."_ He thought to himself as he switched off the safety and flicked the dial to burst fire mode.

* * *

 **AN:** So there it is, the first chapter of the Lone Courier on Remnant. I apologize if the writing is a little slow, however things should pick up once the Courier enters the actual series. I have at least that far planned out. In case you are wondering why the Courier knows so many languages, remember he is as smart as one can possibly be in the Fallout universe. 10 Intelligence lets you do some crazy stuff. The idea for this came from the fact that one can read the Chinese Spec. Ops. manual indicating that the character can read Chinese on an advanced level. Please be sure to review if you have any feedback or ideas.


	3. Chapter 3 - Shaken Legend

**AN:** And now, the action!

Chapter 3 - Shaken Legend

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The sound of the unsuppressed supersonic fire was deafening in comparison to the ambient noise that the Courier had become accustomed to during his wandering since his arrival. Even with the guaiclaws' constant howling and snarling, the loud retort of the ZM LE-300 bursts drowned out any other sound. If the Courier had not worn his helmet, even he would likely have found the noise uncomfortably loud.

Three bursts of 5.56 hollowpoint rounds struck the three lead guaiclaws in their torso (Perk: Center of Mass). The impact left gaping wounds in the creatures who instantly collapsed their momentum carrying them another meter forward, blood pouring from the massive rends in their flesh. Gallons of blood spilled before they started to disintegrate.

Once the Courier had stepped out of concealment, all the guaiclaws had simultaneously turned to face him, and charged into his gunfire with total disregard for self preservation.

The Lone Wanderer's gun fired with no perceptible delay between bursts. A guaiclaw fell with each burst, yet the beasts charged over the bodies of their fellows into the hail of bullets. Despite the amount of guaiclaws he gunned down, they were steadily gained ground towards him. The ground was painted crimson in their blood and the air was filled with the pink mist of destroyed tissue. While the quadstacked magazine he used meant that he could sustain fire for an extended period, he knew that he would have to reload soon, and that when he did, these things would close to melee range.

The amount of cadavers sublimating increased to the point that the Lone Courier was forced to switch his helmet to infrared vision in order to even see his foes. This momentary delay was all that the animals needed to close to melee range. However, the Courier was ready.

Reacting faster than one could see, he switched to his ballistic fist, and brought the ridiculously heavy weapon down onto the foremost creature's head and crushed its skull into a bloody pulp. The pressure plate on the gauntlet activated which triggered the three barrels (hydra config. WMX mod) to discharge their hyper-lethal projectiles. The slugs hit a guaiclaw behind the one initially targeted by the Lone Wanderer, creating mortal wounds in its chest and cracking its bone faceplate.

Now that only a few of these creatures were left, the Lone Courier decided to test the strength of these things. As the one closest to him swiped at him he braced himself and allowed the attack to connect. The claws of the guaiclaw did not even scratch the pauldron of the bulletproof elite riot gear. Still, it had a decent amount of kinetic force and did hurt, so he could not take hits forever.

After crushing his assailant's ribcage, the Lone Courier assessed his four remaining opponents. These creatures seemed larger and smarter than their more aggressive comrades. They circled the Courier, staying a significant distance out of the range of his fists. This proved to be a poor decision, as he simply drew A Light Shining in Darkness and placed a double tap into two of their heads. The other two saw the deaths of their fellows and initially started to slowly backed away before breaking into a full fledged run. This proved to be in vain as the Lone Wanderer simply sent another pair of .45 auto rounds through the back of each of their skulls as they fled.

As he saw no more heat signatures on his infrared, the Courier disabled it and switched back to his scoped M14.

As the adrenaline wore off, he drained a bottle of scotch, and examined the area. There was hardly any evidence that anything had happened here. Most of the corpses and blood were gone by now. Aside from the odd body, all that remained was some damage to the area from overpenetration, shell casings, and powder burns. He made sure to digitize his shell casings. If anyone was in the area, they would have certainly heard the fight. He therefore made sure to remove anything that could be used to identify him. Besides, he could use the casings to manufacture additional ammunition. If he was unable to find civilization, he would need to count his bullets to survive. However, he was not overly concerned as he had large reserves of most types of ammunition, so running out was not an imminent concern.

The Courier continued along the river as the last of the guaiclaws sublimated behind him, its particles drifting into the swiftly darkening sky. He no longer attempted to move particularly stealthily. If anyone was in the area, they would have certainly been alerted by the the unsuppressed gunfire and slaughter of a few moments ago. At this point, it was in the Lone Wanderer's best interest to simply create as much distance between the battleground and him as possible.

The sun set quickly as the Lone Courier continued to jog along the river. The sun soon disappeared behind the tall trees, leaving the sky a light pink color. The color gradually continued to darken until the he had to switch to night vision mode on his elite riot helmet in order to see properly. While he had superb unaided night vision, darkness still limited his line of sight, and with a scoped weapon that was a severe tactical hinderance.

The presence of these creatures concerned the Lone Wanderer. They were likely the explanation for the lack of previous encounters with wildlife. However, the guaiclaws did not seem dangerous enough to challenge a mutant like a centaur or deathclaw. The creatures were also clearly not around pre-war as there would surely have been records of this species.

In addition, the boney protrusions and mask did not appear natural, nor did they appear to be the result of radiation or the FEV. Both resulted in far less even changes. The sublimation that the guaiclaws underwent upon death was also unexplained. They also did not act like most animals would. The majority lacked the self preservation evolution should have beaten into them. They chose to attack even after having seen dozens of their brethren being gunned down. In his mind, these traits meant that they were probably engineered. Maybe a failed military experiment? It wouldn't surprise him. Governments had done stranger things pre-war. He supposed he should consider himself lucky; guaiclaws were a walk in the park compared to the other experiments he had dealt with. They were far weaker than Super-mutants and Deathclaws.

He wasn't sure how he would feel should he encounter either type of creature. On the one hand, it would be reassuring as they were familiar. On the other hand, Deathclaws and Super-mutants were dangerous even in power armor.

The origins of the guaiclaws were of greater interest to him due to the unique qualities they exhibited.

The Courier was primarily interested in how the sublimation occurred. It seemed that shortly after death both the body and blood would become an invisible gas that was lighter than air. Helium was the most likely candidate. Methane or hydrogen would have ignited. Flammable gases don't mix well with firefights. How a living creature became helium upon death was a mystery to him, as did the question as to why someone would design these things to sublimate in the first place. The only thing he could think of was for the purpose of deniability. No bodies, no evidence. But, the beasts weren't exactly subtle.

In the end, the Lone Courier figured that he would simply have to hope to find a proper explanation once he reached civilization. Speculating about how's and why's was of no use to him.

Eventually, the Courier realized that he should stop to sleep for a while. It wasn't strictly necessary, but being as he was in no hurry and no danger, it was a luxury he could afford. In order to do this, knew that he would need a location that would shelter him from both observation, and attention from the local wildlife. "Guaiclaw" was not his preferred method of awakening. He doubted it was anyone's.

The terrain had maintained a consistent elevation with only minor variations along the river, offering no location for him to set up a conventional shelter. Eventually, he concluded that he would need to find an alternate location; the terrain gave no indication of changing. This left him with limited options, the most viable solution being to find a tree to rest in.

Elevation would provide him with concealment and ensure that should any of the local fauna attempt to eat him he would wake before they got to him. However, due to his increased weight (as a result of him being practically a walking armory) he would first need to find a tree that was strong enough to hold his weight.

Fortunately, this proved not to be overly difficult as the trees that grew along the river were stronger and larger than most of the others that he had seen in the forest. Thus he had found a suitable one after only a few minutes of searching.

After scrambling up the tree with the agility of someone who could walk on water, the Lone Courier found a bough sturdy enough to hold his weight and sat down for a long night.

Rather suddenly, he saw something that caused him to panic. _Him_ , the Legendary Courier Six, the Messianic Lone Wanderer, angel of the abyss and bringer of the apocalypse was panicking. One would wonder at what would cause such a normally stoic individual to panic. The answer to that was currently shattered into lots of pieces of varying sizes.

The Courier's first coherent thought (after a series of incoherent "what?"'s and "how?"'s) was:

" _What the FUCK happened to the moon?!_ "

Roughly two thirds of the moon was shattered into countless tiny pieces. Worse still, he could only think a few ways that it might have occurred, and all of them involved aliens or super weapons or both.

Immediately he set about rationalizing this revelation to himself in a way that would not cause him to have a mental breakdown. Right. He knew that the moon was not shattered before he tested the Transportalponder MK. II. Therefore, it seemed that some time had passed from when he had disappeared from the old train station to when he had first arrived in this lush forest. It was mid morning when he left and based on the position of the sun, it was late afternoon when he had arrived. The transit time was incalculable. He could have been gone for six hours or ten million years. He worried that the lack of satellite connection was a result of the destruction of the moon, or worse, the decay of time. He took some small comfort in the fact the debris had not yet spread out throughout the moon's orbit, indicating that its shattering was a recent event. The conclusion that he had come to was that it was probably the result of a battle with the Zetans and thus resolved to check up on Mothership Zeta as soon as he got back. And so the Lone Courier fell into a deep sleep, tormented by the gory sight of those he had killed and those he had let die, all under a shattered moon.

* * *

 **AN:** Well, that's that chapter done. Here is the first real combat that I have written. I'm not really sure what to think of it, but I would appreciate some feedback on the subject. The backstory of the Lone Courier as well as his personality will be revealed upon his actual interactions with people.


	4. Chapter 4 - A Silenced Greeting

**AN:** Here's a extra long chapter for no particular reason. Enjoy!

Chapter 4 - A Silenced Greeting

* * *

The Lone Wanderer was in a familiar location. One he had been in hundreds of times before. Yet the familiar sounds of creaking pipes and the distant sloshing of the tidal basin were anything but comforting. It was the Jefferson memorial, Project Purity. It was a symbol of freedom, liberty, and mankind's tenacity and will to survive despite the odds.

And he hated the place with every fiber of his being.

At night his mind regularly took him there, where he heard his father's last words and re-experienced the guilt of watching helplessly while the final member of his family died inches from him. This time, he was back in the room again. He watched for the umpteenth time as his father activated the purifier, martyring himself. Sometimes his father's face would morph into his own and he would feel the seizures that accompanied lethal levels of radiation poisoning. Like he always did, after the Project had been activated, his father placed his hand on the glass and spoke to him, "...run..", he said, "Run!". In the reflection of the glass was a shattered moon stained crimson. The Lone Wanderer woke as he usually did, in a cold sweat.

He could no longer remember the last time he did not have a nightmare when he slept. With the amount of things that he had seen it was really no surprise to anyone. The Courier was certain that he had a host of mental health issues, and he would be capable of diagnosing them all. Getting them treated on the other hand would be nearly impossible; finding a psychologist was difficult in a nuclear wasteland. He didn't think that the Rorschach test that Doc Mitchell administered really counted. Especially since the Doc didn't know what the results meant. It didn't help that he knew enough about the subject to write a textbook on it. As well as that, those who were in fact qualified, would find it difficult to dissect the mind of a traumatized genius to say the least. While ordinarily the term "genius" might seem pretentious, when one considered that the Think Tank were also considered such, it became much less flattering.

Courier Six simply soldiered on, doing what was right by any means necessary. He had no qualms or hesitation when it came to the extermination of the morally bankrupt, only many not entirely rational regrets.

Dismissing these musings on his psychological state, the Courier disabled the night vision mode on his helmet so he could actually see something. As the color returned to his vision, he was pleasantly surprised to find that it was shortly after dawn. He had successfully made it through the night without any external interruptions to his rest. Evidently the tree had done its job. The Lone Wanderer decided that he should cover as much distance as he could in hope that he would find civilization, where he could find out where he was and what, in the name of all that was holy and unholy, had happened to the moon and when.

After he downed a bottle of whiskey (the contained alcohol promptly filtered out by his artificial heart), the Courier jumped down from the tree. He allowed his reinforced bones to take the hit and continued to follow the river downstream, albeit much more quietly than he had the previous night. He needed to ensure that first contact with the locals would be on his terms. He had been ambushed too many times to let it happen again. Besides, he looked fairly intimidating in his elite riot gear and if he was discovered it was likely he would be met with drawn weapons in a best case scenario. In a worst case scenario he would be met with rockets and artillery fire from a European equivalent of the Boomers.

The wind had been almost imperceptible while he had been in this forest, it was only barely noticeable when he had climbed the tree. Previously, the breeze had been wafted gently downstream, leaving the Lone Wanderer upwind. Fortunately for him however, the wind suddenly gusted strongly in the opposite direction. This almost entirely random phenomenon provided him with the most crucial information he had received since his arrival in this strange land.

Through the deactivated filters on his helmet, he smelled the unmistakable scent of smoke. Smoke was a near definite sign of human habitation. The fact that the smoke was not visible in the sky proved to the Courier that the source of the smoke was not a forest fire, as an uncontrolled blaze would have caused more noticeable effects. There was, or had recently been, a controlled fire somewhere downwind of him. Since the scent was only noticeable once the wind had started blow towards him indicated that he had chosen correctly in his decision to head downstream.

The Lone Courier recognized that he would likely soon make contact with the locals. As such, he decided to do some reconnaissance first. After all, it was better to be safe than dead; or worse, responsible for civilian casualties. While he was difficult to see in the green colored riot gear and would be practically invisible to even the most observant of beings, he was taking no chances. After all, why settle for being practically invisible when you can be literally invisible.

One of the first things that the Courier did after reacquiring his brain was to transplant the stealth field generator from his Chinese stealth armor, which he had received from the VSS armory after he completed the Anchorage simulation, onto the Stealth Suit MK. II (much to the delight of the Suit.) This along with upgrades to the energy weapon resistance led him to dub this version the MK. III.

After he equipped the suit, it said its customary greeting of "did you miss me?." To this of course, the Courier responded with his customary silence. Talking to a computer was a rather fruitless endeavor.

The Courier dropped into a crouch which activated the stealth field generator. Now that he was invisible, he continued to creep forward in hope of discovering the source of the smoke. As he advanced, he saw that the trees around him gradually began to thin out. This indicated to him that he would soon approach a clearing or the edge of the forest, two logical spots for an encampment to be. He slowed his pace further as the trees became sparser. The mid morning light that filtered through the trees meant that he could not locate the source of the smoke from the ambient light that a fire would produce as he would if it were night.

The clearing, as it was revealed to be, was large, nearly eighty meters across, and irregular in shape. Much to the disappointment of the Lone Wanderer, the area seemed to be devoid of life. He switched the helmet of his suit to infrared vision. Multiple objects were of high temperature. None were over a meter tall.

At the opposite end of the clearing, close to the river, the remnants of a fire still smouldered. Some small dots appeared in the trees which the Courier assumed to be birds. In the treeline a large, short bright red heat signature moved. It was far shorter than the guaiclaws that he had seen the previous day. However, since the being did not appear to be bipedal it was almost certainly an animal. Whether it was hostile remained to be seen. As his AR scanner implant required line of sight, he swiftly crossed the clearing. Fortunately for him, the creature came out from behind the foliage that concealed it. It looked similar aesthetically to the guaiclaws in that it had a white and red mask that covered its face, and multiple bony plates that covered various parts of its body. However, while guaiclaws had a skeletal structure similar to that of a deathclaw, this new creature appeared to be shaped more like a pre-war boar.

Scanning...Threat: Low...Disposition: Hostile. That was all the Courier needed. He assessed that despite the increased thickness of the faceplate, it was not likely that it would stop even a subsonic .308 round. He sighted the creature, put the crosshair over its head, at such close range he had no need to adjust for elevation or wind, exhaled and squeezed the trigger twice.

Much to the surprise of the Lone Courier, the creature still stood. Blood flowed from cracks in the creature's mask. Evidently, this animal was capable of surviving two rounds to the head. This was a claim that only a few creatures (including the Courier) could make. It made tortured squeals as it searched in vain for its assailant. The Courier put another three round into the mortally wounded animal and silenced it.

The similarities between the guaiclaws and this new creature disturbed him. Their species were entirely different in structural form yet they appeared aesthetically similar. This all but confirmed that both this thing and the guaiclaws were engineered. This brought him even more questions such as who made them and for what purpose as well as how many different species there were. The fact that they were hostile to (presumably) all humans deepened the mystery further. It seemed strange to engineer a creature that would try to kill everyone. Since no answers seemed to be forthcoming, the Lone Wanderer set off with a renewed desire to make contact and get some answers.

After the Lone Wanderer deactivated the stealth field, he decided that his next order of business would be to discover which direction the people who had previously camped here had gone. Now that he had dealt with any hostiles in the area, he approached the remains of the fire to search for any clues that would provide information on where the only sapient life he had seen any sign of had gone.

From what he could tell, the fire was relatively small, as was the amount of disturbance to the floor of the clearing which meant that there were likely no more than four people who had stayed here. The path that they took when they left was obvious even to the casual observer. It was clear by the fact that those who had been here did not bother to cover their tracks, that they either did not fear reprisal, or did not expect anyone else to be here. He did not know which was more likely.

The condition of the fire indicated that they had not left long before the Courier had arrived. He determined that they had at most a four hour lead on him. Therefore, he set off at what he would consider to be a jog. The Lone Wanderer was confident that he would overtake his quarry before nightfall. A pace that would be considered grueling for most was handled with ease by the Courier. This was due not only due to the extensive amount he ran daily, but also due to his more efficient artificial heart and cybernetically augmented lungs. Despite the speed at which he moved, the Lone Wanderer was silent. It was a technique he had perfected through numerous infiltrations and covert takedowns of enemy positions.

Time passed quickly for the Courier as he was distracted from his usual brooding with questions about the new place he found himself in. What had happened here? What was the story behind those creatures? Why had it taken so long for him to find evidence of sentient life in a place as nice as this? Was what he pursued even human? These ponderings kept the Courier distracted for most of the day, he only paused periodically to drink a bottle of one of the various hard liquors he carried with him. As usual, the alcohol was correctly identified by his artificial heart as a poison and therefore filtered from his bloodstream, which prevented him from becoming intoxicated.

As the sun dipped back behind the trees, the Courier noticed something that brought him crashing back to reality: voices. The sound would have been imperceptible to the average human from this distance, but it was unmistakable to him. While he could not yet make out distinct words, it sounded like English. While he theoretically was capable of speaking several languages, he was not excited to try to speak a language he had never heard before.

The Courier slowed his pace to ensure he would not make any noise that would give away his position and activated his stealth field generator. The voices had stopped by now, this would have concerned the Courier had he not been invisible. At this point, it would have required divine intervention for him to have been detected.

The Courier switched his helmet to infrared. Three human shaped heat signatures appeared about seventy meters in front of him. They were obscured from conventional observation by the thick shrubbery that blanketed the forest floor. Courier Six silently approached his quarry. He now had a line of sight. It was the moment of truth; the results that his AR scanner delivered his would determine his next course of action.

To the naked eye, his quarry appeared at first glance to be human, both in height and shape. However closer observation revealed that they all appeared to have animalistic features; some had tails, others had a second pair of ears on the tops of their heads. To the Lone Courier, this suggested either FEV exposure or genetic experimentation, presumably by those Vault-tec bastards.

On a less promising note, they wore masks similar to those that were worn by the guaiclaws and the creature he had engaged in the clearing. It was a bad sign if ever there ever was one, especially when one considered that everything that wore one of those had previously tried to kill him. However, on the offhand chance that they were taken as trophies, he made sure to scan them. He was not overly surprised when his scanner reported that, like everything else he had encountered so far, they were both hostile and a low threat to him.

The Courier sighed in resigned fashion. It seemed that unless they carried holotapes that detailed the geography and history of this place since the bombs fell, he would simply be left with more questions. He looked down his scope and activated VATS. In less than a second, he sent a silenced round directly towards each of their heads. They all simultaneously collapsed lifelessly to the ground. The clichéd simile of a marionette with its strings cut was no less appropriate because of its overuse.

The Lone Wanderer switched to A Light Shining in Darkness and advanced towards the downed figures in order to confirm the kills and search for any intelligence that they carried.

However, as he approached the bodies, he noticed something peculiar. There did not appear to be any blood or injuries of any kind on the bodies that one would expect from gunshot victims. In fact, on closer inspection, the mutants(as he had designated them) appeared to be breathing. This was by far the most perplexing thing that the Courier had ever seen, and he had seen some pretty strange things. Somehow, the .308 rounds, rather than splatter their grey matter over the forest floor, merely knocked these things unconscious with no apparent damage.

" _Well, at least there's a bright side to this,_ " thought the Courier as he restrained the unconscious mutants.

Now he had a means to finally acquire some information about this place. It was time for the Lone Courier's brand of "enhanced interrogation."

* * *

 **AN:** This chapter is more than double the length of what I normally upload. My typical criteria for a chapter is that each should encompass a major event and should be over 1k words. I appreciate the reviews by the way, keep them coming. I am also open to suggestions. While I do have ideas of where this should go, feedback is always nice.


	5. Chapter 5 - Enhanced Interrogation

Chapter 5 - "Enhanced Interrogation"

 **AN: WARNING! "ENHANCED INTERROGATION"** (It's not that bad. I'm just covering my ass. You'll find worse in the CIA torture report.)

* * *

As the Courier was securing his prisoners, the first things he noticed were the peculiar weapons that the trio had carried prior to their sudden collapse. They were far brighter colored than those he had seen in the wasteland and even more so compared to those used by the pre-war militaries. He also did not recognize the models, nor did they contain any manufacturer's marks that he could identify. This was surprising when one considered how familiar the Lone Courier was with the weapons of the world (Perk: Gun Nut.)

This left two options: Either the weapons were manufactured post-war or, they were custom made. If they _were_ custom made, these people had access to very high tech manufacturing. Either way, it indicated that there was a highly developed civilization (or at least an arms manufacturer) in the immediate area. This inspired hope in the Lone Courier that he would eventually manage to leave this Godforsaken forest before he died of old age.

The Courier also searched his captives for any objects of interest that they might have carried. Between the three of them, he found some paper money a various denominations, strangely colored ammunition, and each of them had a very strange device.

The "paper money" was not actually made out of any kind of paper, but was rather made of a rigid plastic. This further supported the theory that a civilization was developed at least to the level of the NCR in the vicinity. The currency itself appeared to be termed "Lien" and issued by an entity named "Vale".

The spare ammunition was of varying calibers and was brightly colored like the weapons and appeared to also be slightly luminous. However, without knowledge of the design and chemicals used in the construction of the cartridges, he was not comfortable with an attempted disassembly of them without any specialized equipment as he was rather fond of his fingers, and so simply digitized them for later study.

The devices were the most peculiar though. They varied slightly in size but all consisted of two parallel grips. When a small amount of force was used to pull them apart a glass pane unrolled in the center, reminiscent of a scroll. This glass then started to display words, much like a terminal would. This was without a doubt some of the most advanced technology he had seen. For a computer to be simultaneously this small and powerful was virtually unthinkable. Not even Big Mountain had this level of technology. It seemed to him that unless this technology was manufactured post-war (which seemed unlikely to him) there was another party that had independently developed and mass produced highly advanced miniaturized computers that appeared to function via a touch-screen, something that even Vault-Tec had been unable to do.

The Courier digitized the "scrolls", as he had dubbed them, and resolved to disassemble and analyze the workings of these devices at the first available opportunity. His mind already teemed with ideas for potential upgrades to his Pip-Boy.

While the Lone Wanderer would have loved to continue to examine the objects, as he was convinced that they held more secrets, he prioritized the interrogation of the prisoners. Their numbers would work to his advantage as that meant that each of them were expendable, and he would make sure that they knew that.

Despite the Courier's many morals, he had no qualms about violently interrogating someone who would shoot him on sight. However, he would avoid killing them in cold blood if at all possible. It was difficult enough reconciling killing those that gave him literally no choice. Killing someone who posed him no threat would give him immeasurably more difficulty. His captives did not need to know that however.

Two of the mutants had second pairs of ears on the tops of their heads, while the other one had a tail. One of the two mutants with four ears was female, while the other was male. The Courier only hoped that they were both sane and intelligent enough to answer his questions. It wouldn't be much use to him if he had captured whatever this place's equivalents of Fiends were.

The first step in his plan to extract information from his captives was to unmask them. Without a mask to hide behind, he hoped they would be more compliant than otherwise. Then again, it might not, but it couldn't hurt.

Once the Lone Wanderer had unmasked his captives, he examined their faces. They were surprisingly young, only slightly older than he was. Fortunately for him, they did not appear to be ravaged by the effects typical of long term drug addiction.

The lack of scars and the apparent youth of his captives made the Courier optimistic about his chances to break their will without resorting to physical torture. He did not want to try to waterboard someone with vodka. After all, he only had a limited supply. He would simply settle with scaring the living shit out of them.

His strategy in the interrogation would be to hood all three prisoners and gag two of them. The gags would be enough so that they could not talk, but could still make pained noises. The sounds of the suffering of one's comrades would serve to further demoralize the interrogee. The hoods would help disorient them. Fairly standard procedure for this kind of thing.

He decided to interrogate the male one with four ears while he would threaten the female. Hopefully, unwillingness to condemn one's fellows to death and pain would force his captive to talk. A misguided sense of chivalry in the sense of a desire to protect women would also work to his advantage, although he wasn't banking on it.

Each of the prisoners were propped against their own tree, all facing an arbitrary central point. The two gagged ones were placed adjacent to one another while the one the Lone Wanderer would interrogate was opposite the other two. He equipped the Blackhawk and his elite riot gear. The material he had made the hoods from had been "acquired" from his captives and was somewhat translucent, allowing the barest amount of light through. If he was lucky, the only thing that they would be able to see was the infernal glow of his lens. Besides, he was rather good at intimidating people (Perk: Terrifying Presence.) The Courier removed all the bullets from the Blackhawk and materialized a bottle of dirty water. Someone was about to get an irradiated awakening.

His captive awoke to the strange dual sensations of cold and burning. The water was cold, and the radiation burned. The hood disoriented the captive and aided in the drowning feeling that his prisoner experienced as he awakened. The prisoner sputtered and spat in an effort to expel as much of the water as possible.

Initially, he was unable to speak and merely gasped in an attempt to acquire some much needed oxygen. Finally, he spoke.

"Is anyone there?" His voice shook slightly but quickly became steadier.

"Where am I?" His voice still retained a note of fear. Good.

This initial exclamation told the Courier much about his captive. Any information that his captive revealed to the Courier could be used to better interrogate the him.

The high pitched and fearful voice indicated that they were neither well trained nor were they hardened veterans. The coherence in the response was a good sign as it meant that they would likely be capable of understanding his questions as well as providing useful answers. This determined his strategy in his interrogation of the prisoners.

The lack of training meant that they would break relatively easily under threats of violence. So, he decided, his best option would be appear as evil as he could be. If he appeared to be a sadistic bastard, they would believe that he would not hesitate to end any of them and so, would be more inclined to talk. From this decision, the Lone Courier derived his response.

"Due to the incompetence of you and your little group, you are now my prisoner. I, am going to to question you. And you are going to go tell me what I want, or not, which would be more fun."

The Courier's voice was colder than Anchorage in winter and terrifyingly calm. It sent shivers of fear down the spine of the only conscious prisoner. However, the prisoner's pride and fanaticism prevented him from caving immediately.

"I'm n-not telling you anything you fuck," he stammered "we'll fucking kill you for this!."

The Courier chuckled maliciously, an engineered sound that would have unnerved even the most grizzled of veterans.

"You don't understand," he said "as far as anyone else is concerned you're already dead."

The Courier walked to the other side of his captive silently. The prisoner's head remained facing his previous position.

"This is how this is will work." The prisoner's head snapped towards the sound of his voice, startled by his silent change in position.

"We, are going to play a little game," he said, with the psychotic glee of sadist in his voice,

"It's called Russian roulette," he said as he opened the Blackhawk which made an ominous click, "I'm going to put a single bullet into the chamber and spin it."

The Courier did just as he had said he would and ensured that his captive heard every action. Despite what he told the mutant, he felt no need to load an actual bullet. While he knew that if he actually killed one of them, the other two were more likely to talk, he would prefer to get the information without killing anyone, something that he was confident in his capabilities of. Therefore, unbeknownst to his captive, he had actually loaded a spent cartridge into the chamber.

"Now, I'm going to ask you a question," the Courier continued with a psychopathic level of happiness, "and if I don't like the answer, I will pull this trigger. There is a one in six chance you die each time this trigger is pulled."

The Courier constantly circled his prisoner as well as varied the volume of his voice and the distance between him and the prisoner as he spoke in order to disorient him.

"If you live, we do it all over again until you give me what I want. If you die...I move on to your friends."

He changed his tone back to one of deadly seriousness and lethal threat. The change from a sadistic psychopath to cold gestapo agent would serve to convince his prisoner that he was utterly insane and unstable enough that he was willing to kill him at the drop of a hat.

"This is not a matter of whether you will break or not, as I know for certain: you **will** break. It is only a question of how long this will take. Answer my questions, and you will walk away from this."

"I have two other prisoners I can interrogate. If unwilling to cooperate, then I will kill you and start on one of the others."

This was said with a totally calm and matter of fact tone, making it clear he had no problem summarily executing prisoners. While that was not true, the Courier's voice gave no indication of that.

"Let's start with a simple question: what are you?"

Tense seconds passed. Despite the imminent threat of death, the mutant remained defiantly silent. The Courier raised the Blackhawk and pushed the barrel into the forehead of his captive. After a couple seconds, he pulled the trigger and of course, the handgun clicked. Still no reaction. Time to escalate.

"Willing to die for your pride?" asked the Courier rhetorically, "Since you evidently don't care about your own life, let's change things up a little. How about I play this game with your little girlfriend over here?" The Courier kicked his female captive as lightly as he possibly could as he knew that the average kick from him would crush the ribcage of a normal human.

The female let out a whimper of pain through the gag. Both of the gagged captives had been awake for a while. Their comrade's yells had awakened them. This was beneficial to the Courier as they also believed they were dealing with a psychopath.

The pained noise that the female made was a success in the opinion of the Courier as it meant that the prisoner he was interrogating was aware both that she was there, and that she was suffering because of him.

"Get away from her you bastard!" yelled his hooded captive in a fearful rage. The Courier now knew that he had guessed correctly in his assumption of misguided chivalry. The naivety amused him.

"How about we add some 'variation' to this game?" the Courier said, ignoring the impotent fury of his captive, the Courier opened the Blackhawk once again and digitized the spent cartridge and rematerialized another one. " This is a jacketed hollow-point cartridge, hollow-point means that upon impact, the head of the bullet will flatten out tearing an enormous hole in the tissue of the target."

"Instead of aiming this at your head, I will be aiming it at her abdomen. This will ensure a slow gruesome death of blood loss. It can last as long as fifteen minutes." The Courier spun the cylinder and said, "So, are you ready to talk?"

* * *

AN: This took forever to write. This chapter is only 2k words because it required that many words to convey the entirety of the "enhanced interrogation" portion of the Lone Courier's questioning. This has been by far the darkest chapter and most likely the darkest it will get for a while. This was my idea for how the Lone Courier could not appear clueless upon his arrival to civilization and, if he had to psychologically torture some people along the way, he was fine with it. Keep in mind the Courier is not actually a psychopath, nor is he actually sadistic. Notice how he never causes any permanent physical damage to people whom he knows are and were entirely willing to kill him on sight. Compared to standard reactions in the wasteland, what he is doing is relatively tame. He would be entirely justified in simply executing them and continuing on his way.

The techniques and methods used by the Courier are consistent with methods commonly used in "enhanced interrogation" and are considered by the United Nations to be torture.


	6. Chapter 6 - Revelations and Confusion

Chapter 6 - One Step Forward

* * *

The prisoner's head sagged in defeat. All resistance abruptly ceased as he resigned himself to his captor's questions, unwilling to risk a tortuous death for his female comrade. Everyone knew gut wounds were a bad way to go.

"Yes," he said quietly, "I'll answer your questions, just...please don't kill us."

The Courier was inwardly jubilant that his threats had worked. If his prisoner had continued to refuse to cooperate he would have had to take "drastic measures". He would rather keep his hands clean. In this instance at least, he had no delusions about the blood on his hands. This way no one would send (more) assassins after him.

"You know the rules," the Courier drawled as he attempted to sound as disinterested as possible, "Answer my questions, and you leave here alive."

"So," he continued "Let's try this again: What are you?"

This question was not the Courier's highest priority as in the end, it was likely irrelevant what manner of creature he was interrogating. However, the information was probably viewed as harmless and would get his captive talking. Establishing a precedent of cooperation would make it easier for him to draw out further information. The act of giving him information would cement the surrender in the mind of his captive.

"Faunus," muttered his prisoner in a voice quiet enough that, had the Courier not been as Perceptive as he was, he would have missed it entirely.

"Did you say something?" the Courier asked innocently, "I'm sorry but you're just going to have to **speak up**."

The Courier added emphasis to the last two words and audibly cocked the hammer on the Blackhawk. "F-Faunus," the prisoner said desperately, this time slightly louder than normal speaking volume. He heard fear. Good.

"And they are?" asked the Courier referring to the other two captives.

"Also Faunus."

While the captured Faunus had many questions (such as who in the world didn't know what a Faunus was) he didn't dare voice them for fear of endangering his friends.

For his part, the Courier recognized the word as the Roman equivalent of the Greek god Pan. While this latin equivalency initially concerned him due to the language's association with Caesar's Legion, he quickly dismissed the concept of any affiliation. Scientists typically named new species Latin names which made it entirely more probable that the mutants he had captured were engineered rather than evolved naturally. Besides, Legion members required a different strategy to break.

"And what is the definition of a 'Faunus'?" the Courier asked.

"Humanoids with the physical characteristics of animals" answered the prisoner in an unusually erudite fashion, sounding as if he was quoting from something.

The revelation further supported the Courier's idea that they were a result of genetic modification or a pre-war experiment. It sounded like an attempt to make superior humans through genetic splicing.

It did sound like something the Think Tank might try on Chinese prisoners or something. It was only now that he worried what the Brains might do while he was gone. They really lacked morals. Without him to focus their abilities into projects beneficial to humanity, he worried they might do something disastrous. Like release robo-scorpions into the world to kidnap and lobotomize people. He needed to stop thinking about this, worrying would do him not good. He refocused on the interrogation.

The Courier's next question would hopefully reveal information critical to his subsequent actions that involved these "Faunus." The question would of course be slightly confusing to the prisoner, by that of course, he meant that it would sound totally insane.

"Why would you have attacked me on sight?" Courier Six asked, fully aware of how irrational he sounded.

He did not think it likely for him to get a coherent, useful answer from such a seemingly strange question. After all, asking why they would have done something he should have had no idea they were going to do would seem nonsensical. Therefore, he was pleasantly surprised when his prisoner, either out of fear or intelligence, actually answered his question usefully. The answer itself was both disappointing and unsurprising to him. "You're human aren't you?"

"Arguably," the Courier responded without a trace of humor in his voice.

He meant that both literally and metaphorically. Many of his enemies would argue that he was a god, demon, or other eldritch abomination that slaughtered hundreds of soldiers in the dead of night. This was an image he did nothing to dispel. He knew there was considerable value in his reputation.

He had also replaced and augmented much of his body with cybernetics. All of the upgrades were internal because to visibly be a cyborg would have attracted too much attention. Not to mention all his mutations. Technically, he was part giant fire ant. All these changes led to him occasionally questioning his own physical humanity and how much of it he had given up in exchange for power to pursue his goals. Yet, if his prisoner was surprised by his answer he did not show it and continued,

"That would be reason enough for us."

While the Courier was a genius, it certainly did not take one to deduce the reason for these Faunus' hostility towards humans. If he had learned anything from history it was that every society will create an "us" and "them" mentality if an ethnic or racial group was present. While issues of race and sex had largely been resolved pre-war and remained as such in the civilized parts of the wasteland, the creation of the ghouls led to a rebirth of prejudice and discrimination. While naturally the Courier could not sympathise with their cause, he did empathize with them. He had seen first hand how righteous anger could lead to radicalization.

With that in mind, he supposed that the masks were indicative of an organizational affiliation. Whether it was a religious one or a political one he could not tell. He instinctively leaned towards the latter based on past experiences. Religious fanatics were rarely this coherent or willing to cooperate, even under the threat of torture, and especially under threat of death. After all, most religions involved an afterlife of some kind and a fanatic does not fear death because of it.

Furthermore, if these mutants were numerous, it was likely that they would have formed different factions much as humans did. The Courier also realized that he was not presenting a favorable depiction of humans to his captives. If they were not radicalized before, they most certainly were now. He was also very much aware that it was entirely possible that this patrol's (as he assumed this group was) absence would be noticed and a search team might be deployed.

As a precaution, he decided that he should wrap this up before he was found. While it was entirely possible that no one was looking for his prisoners, he had not survived for as long as he had by taking unnecessary risks. Now, there were only two things he needed to know before he could leave.

"Now, tell me how you three each took a bullet to the head without any permanent damage."

The relatively civil tone that the Courier now used to interrogate the prisoner both made him believe that he would survive and made the instances in which the Courier used a harsher tone more effective due to the contrast. The calmness with which the Courier threatened death would also serve to unsettle his captive, making him more cautious about antagonizing him. He found cold violence to be more effective at intimidation than passionate aggression.

The Faunus responded with more confidence and less fear than he had previously.

"Our Aura stopped it. It seems that it took too much out of us and we passed out."

"Aura?"

The Faunus thought it very strange how ignorant this human was. However, he was aware of how risky it would be for him to question his lack of knowledge for fear of antagonizing him. Any perceived slight or sign of defiance could mean one of his friends died. Slowly.

"A physical manifestation of our souls, mostly used defensively, however some can use it offensively."

This confused the Courier nearly to no end. There was no evidence to support that what his prisoner said was not what he truly believed. Whether it was true or not, his captive certainly believed it. There was none of the tell-tale signs of a lie in his voice and he was clearly not trained to resist interrogation from an expert.

When the Courier attempted to entertain the very idea of aura, he found that his scientific side almost instantaneously rejected it. There was no empirical evidence to support the idea of an entity such as the soul, and the concept of it manifesting physically was virtually unthinkable. The only logical idea he could come up with that he could reconcile with his knowledge of science was the use of force fields like he had seen at Big Mountain miniaturized for use by personnel and that his captives had been deceived by whomever told them about this "Aura" concept. This was a matter that he could investigate later. Until then, he would simply use a higher caliber against humanoids he wanted dead.

"In which direction is the nearest city?"

The Courier now simply decided to leave as soon as possible. He did not want to be here when rescue for his prisoners came. Besides, once he reached civilization, he would be able find more reliable answers. He was well aware that torture was notoriously ineffective in terms revealing reliable strategic information. This was one of the reasons that he made sure not to ask his captive any information that would be detrimental to his captive's organization and instead only asked things that would be common knowledge. Now, it was time to make contact with the more civilized denizens of this new land.

"Vale is about eleven hours northwest of here," the Faunus finally revealed. The Courier analyzed the tone in order to ensure that he was being told the truth. Satisfied, he responded,

"Thanks for the info," as he walked in direction ensuring that his prisoner could hear that the distance between them was increasing.

"You're not just going to leave us here like this right? right?!" the prisoner yelled desperately.

The Courier merely chuckled darkly as the Faunus' yells and curses slowly died out as he entered the forest. He felt slightly dirty after having acted the part of a psychopath. His first-hand experience with that type of person left him with a strong distaste that carried over even into pretending to be one of them. But, it needed to be done. And he always did what needed to be done, no matter how distasteful.

That said, there had been no point to him leaving the prisoners tied up. He just thought it would be funny. He didn't feel too bad about it. They would have killed him if they could after all. The Courier did not have much sympathy for those wanted him dead. Besides, the prisoner he had been interrogating would realize in about ten minutes or so that his hands were not properly tied. If he didn't, well, natural selection.

* * *

 **AN:** This concludes the interrogation portion of this story. The Courier now has a better idea of where to go as well as more information about the place he is in but now has twice as many questions. He is now heading towards Vale where he will eventually become involved with the main plot of the show.


	7. Chapter 7 - A Crimson Vista

**AN:** One of the major issues I am having in writing this story is that the world of RWBY is extremely under developed i.e. we know very little about most aspects of the world. Therefore, while this is likely due to Monty Oum currently RIPing in peace, it means that it is very difficult for me to write original content without breaking canon badly. Just check the wiki. Few articles exist, and even fewer are more than stubs. It is likely that additional information will be revealed upon the release of season 3. I have decided to simply fill in any gaps in canon until the truth is revealed at which point, I will simply edit the story to fit with canon. However, I will ensure that no important plot points are based on things I make up. If anyone has any better ideas of a way to do this feel free to tell me. One thing that I would also like to address is this story's stance on "color naming rule." The Lone Courier will naturally not be named after a color and his involvement in a team will likely break the pronunciation of the team's name. Both of these will break the "color naming rule." This is intentional. The Courier is _supposed_ to be different and is intended to contrast with the conventions typical of the world of RWBY. However, should I make any OC's or teams consisting of them I will respect the "color naming rule."

Chapter 7 - A Crimson Vista

* * *

The Lone Wanderer was now in a much better mood overall. He had an objective and more than enough alcohol to get him there. Things were starting to resemble normality, albeit his surroundings were far more visually appealing. Towering trees that flourished with life easily beat the radiation-blasted husks of the Capital Wasteland and the soft grass was preferable to the coarse sand and sparse grass of the Mojave. He resolved not to get used to this. Being accustomed to being uncomfortable for long periods of time was a useful skill. How else would one bear wearing armor in the desert?

The sun indicated that by now it was late afternoon and the Courier knew that he would not be able to reach the settlement he had been informed about until the following day. He began to pay more attention to his surroundings as he became bored of the incessant running. The trees around him were shorter than those that were closer to the river. However, the green behemoths were still impressive compared to what he had seen in the wastelands. Not even Oasis could compare with the grandeur of this forest.

An hour into his journey, the Courier noticed that he was walking up an incline. As his elevation increased it soon became evident that he was climbing a hill. This only furthered his good mood in that he hoped to get a better view of the landscape and potentially his destination once he reached the summit.

Another hour in and the incline became far steeper. The Lone Wanderer knew that a commanding view of the surrounding area could be crucial in determining his next move. After all, for all he knew he could at any moment walk into the main group of those "Faunus" he had previously captured. He doubted that even _he_ could talk his way out of that one.

Not that such an encounter would entail talking. They _would_ shoot on sight after all. The Lone Wanderer knew that he didn't even know how many of Faunus were out there or where they were. He hadn't wanted to risk the prisoner becoming uncooperative if he inquired into things that would be "military secrets". Torturing someone to diminish risk to himself was not something he was willing to do.

Slowly the hill became steep enough that it became slightly difficult for the Lone Courier, in that he needed to be more careful in order not to fall. Not that even a large fall would be unlikely to seriously injure him, the concern was more that he would have had to reclimb the whole hill.

While there were many hills in the Mojave, the Courier reflected, he very rarely climbed them. Most people didn't. After all, it wasn't safe to be silhouetted against the horizon. Who knew if there were snipers about? There were enough raiders and fiends with hunting rifles and surprisingly competent aim that in the open ground of the Mojave, snipers were a real concern. Even the Fiends were good shot, better than they had any right to be given the condition of their bodies.

However, in an area as densely wooded as this, the Courier did not need to worry about being seen; visual range was no more than twenty meters in any direction. He was safe from any long range observation. In the unlikely event that he _did_ encounter something, he would rely on his enhanced reaction time to act first, either fighting or fleeing as he determined prudent.

A few hours passed, and the sky began to change from its usual blue to take on a pink hue as sunset approached. As the incline of the hill began to level out, the trees began to thin slowly and the Lone Courier could soon see light stream through gaps in the horizon of trees in front of him where he could previously only see an infinite darkness of foliage. As he approached the summit, light became increasingly abundant even as the sun set rapidly.

The color became a deep red as time went on and the blue vanished from sight. Soon the trees became sparse, isolated silhouettes against the horizon. The Courier was forced to shield his eyes with one hand from the blinding light while they acclimated to the sudden brightness. His elite riot armor was bathed in the red light of swiftly setting sun. The crimson glaze clashed with the dulls green of the Courier's armor and weapon.

Suddenly, the Courier found himself outside of the tree line, for the first time since he had arrived in this strange place, he saw something other than foliage in front of him. For him, it was the one of the most beautiful things he had ever seen, second only to Earth from space.

The first thing he noticed was that the hill he had climbed was bluff. On the face that led down into the forest below ancient rough-hewn steps were set into what would have otherwise been a nearly sheer cliff.

Beyond the bluff the trees continued to the sight that stole the Courier's breath and dominated his vision.

In the distance, roughly fifteen miles away, was a city in all it's pre-war splendor, nearly the size of New Vegas. In its center, raised upon a sheer cliff, a tall strangely shaped building of many spires reached into the evening sky. A series of green lights shown from the tallest of the central towers in this structure. The lights of a busy city illuminated the area, making the fresh stars difficult to see in contrast. And even beyond the city lay a vast shimmering expanse of water, large enough to be the ocean. The shattered moon and faint stars reflected dully off the choppy waves.

As he cradled his M14, a slight breeze blew the duster of the Courier's elite riot armor and it fluttered at the wind's gentle prompting. Above this dramatic vista, the shattered moon still hung, now in its crescent form.

The Courier decided that it was best to start towards the city in the morning. People were less suspicious during the day. Besides, even he was willing to admit that he functioned better with regular sleep. So far he had not found any cybernetic implants or genetic mutations that would allow him to forgo sleep. Unfortunately. Accepting what had to be done, he began his usual process of ensuring his safety while he slept.

Once he had reached the top of the tree, he gazed once again at the magnificent scene that stretched out before him, before turning his back on it to view the area behind him. Beneath the bluff where the tree he was on was located, the forest stretched on seemingly endlessly towards the horizon. In the distance, he could see the light of a fire and a plume of smoke silhouetted against the backdrop of the numerous stars. It was likely those "Faunus" he had captured earlier.

He felt a bit better knowing that they weren't eaten by guaiclaws. The Courier hoped that they would not come after him. He would hate to have more blood on his hands. He had enough events to keep him traumatized for several lifetimes. Fortunately, they appeared to have moved in a different direction than he had, potentially heading back to wherever the larger body of their organization was set up.

As the Courier prepared to sleep, he considered his next course of action. It seemed to him that his lack of knowledge of the society he had seen meant that simply knocking on the front door seemed inadvisable. The walls that surrounded the city were also curious. As far as he could tell, there was nothing that constituted enough of an threat out here that would necessitate the building of such a defensive structure.

The only two options he could think of were xenophobia, which would be problematic for him, or that these creatures that resided in the forest were more numerous and of a larger threat than he had realized. He therefore resolved to reconnoiter the city in his stealth suit before revealing himself. Then he could decide whether or not to reveal his origins and formally introduce himself to the regional power. He did not look forward to getting involved with the politics of this place. It was clear to him that even disregarding his abilities, purely by virtue of being the sole representative of what's left of continental America he would be the subject of more interest than he wanted. A better idea might be to just establish formal contact between this place and the NCR. Then he wouldn't really need to get too involved.

As well, the Lone Wanderer only hoped that this metropolis shared the NCR's Old World values instead of the authoritarian ones of Mr. House. Engineering a revolution would not be fun. As he thought of how one might overthrow a dictatorship and successfully replace it with a republican government with the least amount of death, slowly the Lone Courier fell into a deep sleep filled with memories, not all bad, of things he had seen and places he had been. It was the best sleep he'd had in weeks.

* * *

 **AN:** Sorry for the short chapter, I've been busy lately. Not much really happens in this chapter except preparation for the Courier's entrance into Vale.


	8. Chapter 8 - Not Quite the Promised Land

Chapter 8 - Not Quite the Promised Land

* * *

The Courier had a particularly rude awakening from the relatively peaceful sleep he had been enjoying. The first thing he noticed upon opening his eyes was that it was still dark. This immediately pissed him off; sleeping through the night should not be too much to ask.

The second thing he noticed was a giant bird, wearing one of those masks that everything in this damn forest evidently wore. And by giant, he meant giant. This bird was easily fifteen feet tall. It was perched on the tree directly adjacent to his. He was marginally surprised that the tree had not broken under its weight yet. Its presence pleased him as he now had a target towards which to direct his frustrations. The bird screeched a challenge at him, an ear shattering, high pitched sound.

Its inarticulate sound of aggression soon morphed into one of pain as the BOUS (Bird Of Unusual Size as he had termed it) was interrupted by the equally earsplitting sound of a magnetically accelerated projectile being discharged from the YCS-186. The this was followed by two other rounds, the Courier's hands a blur as he rapidly reloaded the weapon. Within a few seconds, the BOUS was dissolving like all creatures he had found so far. The Lone Wanderer idly wondered whether faunus would also sublimate upon death. His mind went to dark places when he was rudely awakened.

Coming back to reality, the Courier was aware that he had likely brought the attention of every being that possessed ears in the entire forest upon his location. He would not have been surprised if people all the way in the city had heard the discharges of the Gauss rifle variant. He knew that he could not stay where he was, and get the sleep he much desired. Since he was not able to get more sleep, he felt that he might as well get to the city as soon as possible.

Based on the sky, he could estimate that it was some time in the early morning, with still a few hours left before dawn. Having once again put on his Stealth Suit Mk. III and re-equipped his M14, the Courier swiftly descended the tree upon which he had been resting. Once at the bottom, he enabled the stealth function on his suit once again and became almost totally invisible. He then returned to the edge bluff where he had admired the panoramic overlook only several hours earlier.

The moon was now behind Lone Wanderer, and the sky was now completely black save for the stars. He could see no light sources that would indicate the presence of others in the black mass of trees that he faced. He slowly began to descend the uneven steps hewn by long-dead hands. The Courier switched his helmet to night vision mode which caused the lenses to glow an ethereal green color. All any observers would have seen was two green lights slowly descending down the face of the bluff.

Upon reaching the bottom, the Courier decided to switch to infrared vision in order to see any enemies before he had direct line of sight on them. Even with night vision, the density of the flora at the bottom of the bluff meant that he would likely not see any hostiles until he tripped over them. Even being invisible only went so far. Fortunately, he saw no contacts upon activating his infrared and subsequently made his way into the stifling forest ahead of him.

An hour had passed of the Lone Wanderer creeping swiftly through the thick undergrowth. The infrared vision was not nearly as effective as the Courier had hoped it would be. The density of the foliage still limited his visibility. From the rare patches of sky he was able to glimpse through the nearly impenetrable canopy above him, he could tell that dawn must have been breaking, as the sky rapidly shifted from its black and dark blue to a pinkish color. Very suddenly, he no longer saw trees in front of him. Rather than any thinning of forest the, the thick brush cut off sheerly. He knew that he had not traveled long enough to have reached the city he had seen. Though, after what he saw ahead of him, he sincerely wished he had been wrong.

The clearing he had entered was bright red with his infrared vision activated. The Courier froze then slowly switched back to night vision. In front of him, the clearing was filled with scores of guaiclaws. The Lone Wanderer instantly made a decision: he was going to continue to use his stealth armor and utilize the tactics of the Chinese Crimson Dragoons to take these things out. He equipped Jingwei's shocksword and crouch-ran towards the nearest animal. The creatures appeared to be aware of his presence but not of his location. They moved around periodically sniffing the air and howling. Their heads and eyes were constantly looking for the barest sign of movement. The Lone Courier found this strange as even the most perceptive creatures of the wastelands were unable to detect his presence when wearing his stealth suit. Despite this heightened awareness, none of them paid any attention to a slight shimmering in the air.

The Courier stood up briefly from his crouch, breaking the stealth field, and slashed the shocksword through the guaiclaw's neck, causing it to spurt crimson. It dissolved into a pile of goo, just like other things he killed with energy weapons. He was glad to see that certain things stayed the same, no matter how far he was from the familiar.

Upon his breaking stealth, all the guaiclaws instantly turned towards him and charged. The Courier of course, promptly disappeared again. He reappeared behind one of the guaiclaws and quickly reduced it to a pile of goo. He continued this process mechanically and methodically.

The animals were incapable of both finding him and hitting him. The Lone Wanderer appeared behind a guaiclaw, killed it, and disappeared again. He avoided the creatures' clumsy swipes at an opponent that they couldn't see with almost contemptuous ease, eliminating his opponents one at time. The Courier's movements around the clearing were impossible to track. The guaiclaws milled around confusedly as they were slaughtered. The Lone Wanderer would have appeared to be teleporting around the clearing, as he sowed death and confusion among the creatures.

Within two minutes, the clearing was filled with guaiclaws sublimating, at a scale that made it nearly impossible to see. The Courier switched his helmet back to infrared and, seeing that there were no more heat signatures, disappeared into the forest, determined to reach the city he had seen from the bluff before anyone could come across the site if the battle.

Dawn had long since broken by the time that the Lone Courier reached the walls of the city, and the sky was once again a crimson hue. He found it strange how vibrant the sunrises and sunsets were in this place. Turning his attention to the object in front of him, he noticed that the walls did not appear to be designed to keep humans out, as they had many grooves that could be used as handholds for a skilled climber.

After the Courier climbed the wall, he was greeted with a sight that depressed him despite his half expecting it. The area he had reached was this place's equivalent to Freeside. Basically, a slum. The buildings were run down, there were beggars in the streets, and the entire district had a grey depressed atmosphere about it.

The Courier was not overly surprised that this city had a poor district. He knew that all pre-war cities did, and that it was likely that even in this seemingly utopian place poverty would still exist. At least this confirmed that this city had not fallen to the Red Menace.

What the Lone Wanderer found most interesting was that most of the residents of the slum were Faunus. While not everyone appeared to be one, the vast majority were. This suggested that either the population of the city was generally skewed more towards Faunus or, what the Courier found more likely, the faunus were an oppressed underclass in this society. The Courier favored the latter option as it would answer the previously unexplained hostility towards humans that was held by the Faunus in the forest that he had "met". It also fit with the usual pattern of people hating things that were different. There was enough historical precedent in similar situations for him not to be even remotely surprised.

From what the Courier knew of Freeside, he was unlikely to find many answers to the questions he held in the poor residential district. He determined that his best bet would be to head towards buildings of administrative or governmental importance. Therefore the Lone Wanderer set off across the rooftops towards the cliff that held the many towered complex. The noise of a city awakening was heard below him as he gradually left the slum. He thought for a moment how peaceful the lives of those below him must be. It struck him that it was likely that the vast majority of them had never taken a person's life. They were all like he was before he left the Vault. Innocent and naive. Most would not survive a day in the wasteland.

The Lone Courier briefly contemplated settling down somewhere, not caring about the troubles of the world and simply enjoying life. He scoffed at the idea. It would be immoral; he would be guilty through inaction. If he learned anything, it was that while the quote "The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is that good men do nothing" was true, it was more that all anyone needed to triumph was for everyone else not to do anything, and in the wasteland, very few people seemed inclined to do anything.

The purpose of this reconnaissance was also to allow the Lone Wanderer to develop an accurate picture of the society he had landed in. So far, first impressions were not great. The slum indicated a stratified society, or at least one with severe economic issues. The disparity in the proportion of Faunus to humans in the slums compared to the areas he had more recently entered (as well as the violent Faunus he had encountered in the surrounding area) suggested a history of racial tensions and the potential for a future race war.

The lack of gate in the city wall was also telling. This meant that this society was very much closed off from the rest of the world. A wall kept things both in _and_ out. The only way to leave the city appeared to be via vertibird variations he had seen periodically. They most often flew to and from the complex on top of the central cliff, however some occasionally flew into the surrounding forest. The presence of abstract sculptures in the more developed part of town that he had entered and the variety of clothes that the people wore helped assuage his fears that this place was some kind of neo-fascist enclave.

Now that the Courier had reached the upside of town, he decided to go with a more hands on approach to his investigation. He jumped down into a secluded alleyway between two marble governmental buildings of unknown purpose, allowing his reinforced bones to take the impact. He changed from the Stealth Suit Mk. III into Benny's suit, put on some gold framed aviators, and placed Maria inside his jacket pocket. Now, all he needed for some answers was to act normal. Easier said than done.

* * *

 **AN:** This was hard to write. We have very little in the way of descriptions of Vale and even images of both the city and Beacon. Much is also inconsistent. So if the descriptions were a little on the light side, blame Rooster Teeth. Any depictions of the city were basically invented by me. I don't even know if they have confirmed if the city is surrounded by a wall or not. Anyway, make sure to review.


	9. Chapter 9 - A Case Of Created Identity

**AN:** Here's a lot of plot for you.

* * *

Chapter 9: A Case of Created Identity

As the Courier pushed his way through the packed boulevards of the central district of the city, he was not given a second glance by most. A suited man in sunglasses was more than invisible in the bustle of city life. Even this early in the morning, the streets were packed with people walking to work or running errands. Evidently New Vegas was not the only city that never slept.

The Courier continually glanced around him without moving his head, the movements of his eyes concealed behind his sunglasses. The governmental buildings became less common as he ventured further into the metropolis. A building to his right read "Royal Library of Vale."

This told him several things. Firstly, this place was called Vale. Whether that was the name of the country or the city he could not be sure. Secondly, the word "royal" indicated a monarchy of some sort. While ordinarily this would have worried him, from what he had seen of the city, oppression typical of a totalitarian regime did not appear to be an issue. Therefore he thought it more likely to be a constitutional monarchy such that was common in Europe prior to the Resource Wars. Finally, this meant that he had finally located a potential source of information. The Courier decided that he would pay this place a visit later on in the day when more people were there or using the stealth suit.

For now he turned around, not wanting to end up in the less populated upper class residential district where his presence might be questioned, and headed towards the downtown commercial district. The Lone Wanderer was aware that he would likely need to stay here for a while and would likely need "resources." Of course, he had a plan.

As the Courier once again pressed through the crowds that routinely covered the sidewalk in busy cities, he made sure to carefully observe his surroundings. While many of the buildings were built in a modern or even futuristic style, many others were made in styles that would have been considered old by pre-war standards. Whether these structures were actually from the 19th century or were merely built in the romantic style was unknown.

The Lone Courier glanced at the headline of a newspaper he passed. "Dust Heist by Faunus Extremist Group White Fang." The picture underneath the headline showed a faunus wearing one of the masks that everything in the forest wore. The Courier was glad to see that the Faunus he had interrogated were considered extremists by the public. The word "Dust" used in that context was unfamiliar to him and the context itself told him nothing. Dust could easily be some type of chem or volatile compound or even a form of currency or bullion.

The fact that a group with political goals was orchestrating heists seemed odd to him, as that behavior was more typical of a crime syndicate than a bunch of fanatics. However, as the "White Fang" did not appear to be a major threat (at least by wasteland standards), he put the issue out of his mind for the time being. He did not have time to worry about some second-rate terrorist group right now. Local forces should be sufficient for dealing with this kind of thing.

Now that the Courier had reached the commercial district, he was no longer quite as invisible as he had been previously. Occasionally, he would be appraised by someone with less than honest intentions. However, the Courier's height and build (Perk: Heavyweight) as well as the lethal aura he exuded put off any attempts to bother him.

There was a matter that had been troubling him for some time: The Lone Courier felt largely without direction.

Typically, upon entering a new area he looked for problems to solve i.e. threats to eliminate. In the Mojave, he had seen the defeat of the Legion as his goal. Everywhere he went, he had solved problems, and did all he could to "fight the Good Fight".

In this location, his intervention would be entirely unnecessary, and likely unwelcome. His skills were meant for battlefields and wastelands, not for a city wealthy and civilized enough to rival those of pre-war America.

Therefore, he decided that the best course of action would be to attempt to repair the Transportalponder or, if worst came to worst, construct another one. From there he could inform either the Brotherhood or the NCR (probably not both) of Vale and give them a Transportalponder. The NCR could take it from there. This meant that he would need materials and most importantly, time. Lots of time.

There was, however, one problem. While the Courier may have been the most intelligent man alive, however he had no idea how the Transportalponder operated even on a theoretical level. He had tried to get the Brains to explain it to him but within ten minutes it had devolved into a bicker-fest that had lasted four hours. He was certain that the majority of headaches he had experienced in his life took place during the short period in which he had interaction with the Brains.

While he was confident that rebuilding the Transportalponder was doable, attempting to reverse engineer a fried prototype would make progress slow at best. The process could take a year at worst. This meant that the Lone Courier would need to acquire some form of at least semi-permanent residence. To do that he would need more of the local currency, which was why he was in the rundown part of the commercial district.

While the Courier may have been one of the richest men alive back in the Mojave, he doubted that a civilized society such as this would still use bottle caps when they had their own printed money. Nor did he think they accepted NCR or Legion money. It was for situations like this (as well as his inability to find anyone with sufficient caps to purchase them) that the Courier had some of the treasure of the Sierra Madre on him at all times. The majority of it was in the safe in the Sink, however the Courier had two ingots of pure gold. The ingots were unmarked (at least by Vale standards) so if he tried to sell them in a richer area it might have raised uncomfortable questions. In a less economically well off area, such as the one he was currently in, people would be less inclined to look too deeply into gold being sold at a (relatively) cheap price.

Ten minutes and a bribe later the Lone Wanderer was a couple dozen kilograms lighter and several million lien richer. Now he had the capability of staying in this place almost indefinitely. All he needed was a residence and a way to prevent people from asking questions. The best idea that the Courier could come up with was to rent an apartment in the upper class district and play the part of the reclusive prodigy. This however was not without its problems. He would likely need some form of identification to rent a residence as well as some justification for a seventeen year old to be on his own. In order to reside in Vale for any amount of time, he would need to create an identity for himself, and there was only one place he knew of to do it.

Even after all he had seen, the interior of the Royal Library still awed the Courier. It was not only the neoclassical architecture or the intricate furniture that impressed him but the sheer amount of knowledge in one place. Both the Followers of the Apocalypse and the Brotherhood of Steel would have loved to get their hands on this place. The latter would have killed for it. Being a member of both organizations, the Lone Courier did as well. However he forced himself to prioritize his original purpose in coming here. If this ordeal was going to take as long as he thought it would, he would have plenty of time for research.

The first step would be to find a terminal. He had quickly discovered even from his brief examination of the scrolls that they all seemed to be networked together in something called an internet. While the concept of a network of computers had been utilized to a limited degree pre-war, this internet appeared to encompass all devices. This technology was yet another unsolved mystery to the Courier.

The Courier's plan was to hack the government records to make it appear as though he had always been here. Even if this place was ten times better managed than the NCR was, they would never notice. Old World governments had notoriously inefficient bureaucracies. Besides, an extra face would never be noticed in crowd of millions.

Within minutes of sitting down at a terminal, the Lone Courier was in the government records, changing census data, and forging birth certificates. In the end, this was the story that the Lone Courier concocted:

His name was Markus Friedrich, no need to lie there, his age remained the same and his parents were both named as they were in actuality. He had forged a death certificate for his mother stating she died of complications from childbirth. Being an orphan presented the Lone Wanderer with a dilemma. As he was not over 18, he was technically not considered and adult and would need a guardian. The Lone Courier, murderer of over a thousand people, needed an adult. He had to stifle an involuntary laugh. The cruel irony of the world.

His solution was to simply say that his father was alive and living in a fictional estate for health reasons. Of course, he also needed to justify his wealth and explain his Pip-boy. To that end, he did what considered most distasteful out of all the forgeries he had just committed.

His father was now the founder, and sole owner, of a company called Vault-Tec. The new Vault-Tec specialized in the military sector and created experimental technology. Profits were high and almost everything was classified.

Due to his father having a terminal illness and him almost coming of age, he increasingly managed the company in his father's absence. Courier Six had created a bank account for the company and filled it with currency that he had "acquired" from the bank accounts of the White Fang and various organized crime syndicates.

The Courier supplied that he lived in Vale, had been privately tutored (with the forged transcripts) and for current schooling, went with the only option of Beacon academy, totally oblivious of the mess he had landed himself in.

* * *

 **AN:** This is my idea of how the Lone Courier is going to end up at Beacon and actually interact with the characters of the series. Because, in character, he has no reason to interact with students.


	10. Chapter 10 - First World Problems

**AN:** To clarify, I have made certain changes to Fallout canon both as a result of a modded playthrough and for plot reasons. Most obviously, the Courier and the Lone Wanderer are not the same person in canon. The reason they are in this story is because of a great mod I installed called "A Tale of Two Wastelands." This mod ports the entirety of Fallout 3 into the New Vegas engine and provides a pre-war railroad with which to travel between the two wastelands. Secondly, I reduced the time between taking the G.O.A.T. and leaving the Vault as well as ignored the time difference of nine years between Fallout 3 and New Vegas so that the Lone Courier is not nearly twice the age of the characters of RWBY. At some point I will develop and release a modified Fallout timeline for all this. The Courier also has access to modern weapons that would not have existed in the 1950's. This can be explained by the point of divergence in the Fallout universe being inconsistent. There are references to a Vietnam war, hippies, and Reagan being president, all things that are past the post-WW II point of divergence.

Chapter 10 - First World Problems

* * *

The Lone Wanderer was in the Royal Library again. He was once again sat down at the same terminal as before, in the same uncomfortable blue plastic chair. The spartan appearance chairs and terminals stood out in odd contrast to the otherwise grandly decorated interior. He had spent several hours here, searching through information he could find regarding anything he would consider relevant.

Despite the amount of information available on the internet, he found that little of it was any use. Most scholarly information was in the more traditional medium of paper books which the Courier tore through voraciously. He had prioritized current information over subjects such as history. Through the course of his research, he had discovered many things. Firstly, from the maps that he had consulted, he was in a place called the Kingdom of Vale which was in a place called Remnant. He also did not recognize the location relative to North America. There appeared to be no maps that encompassed more than the region designated "Remnant". Whether this was the result of simple isolationism, or something more sinister, he had no way of knowing. He did find it peculiar however.

Secondly, he had discovered the "correct" names for all the creatures he had encountered in the forest. The creatures on a whole were known as "Grimm." Likely a reference to the eponymous German brothers.

Guaiclaws were known as Beowolves (strangely enough), the boar-like thing was called Boarbatusk, and the bird of unusual size was in fact called a Nevermore.

Things then became far stranger. Aura and Dust. Those were two four letter words to the Lone Courier. Neither made any sense.

Dust was a highly volatile compound that had a myriad of uses. From what he could find, it was used as gunpowder in this society as well as being able to be controlled by Aura. There appeared to be different kinds of Dust that produced various seemingly magical effects. Still stranger, was Aura. There appeared to be _scientific studies_ that supported that aura was a physical manifestation of the soul. It protected the user from death, but could cause them to collapse from exhaustion if depleted. It could also be used offensively in conjunction with Dust, however this appeared to be extremely difficult requiring enormous concentration.

This whole thing left the Courier baffled. The best scientific explanation he could find for Aura was mentally controlled nanobots that everyone in this area was infected with. However, even he knew that this theory was weak.

The lack of organized religion surrounding Aura meant that there was no motive for deceiving the population if nanobots were in fact being used. Furthermore this place was more than advanced enough to detect microscopic robots.

He decided to perform his own experiments later, and pass the results on to the Brains in the Think Tank for analysis.

In the three days since he had assumed his new identity, the Lone Wanderer had spent most his time modifying his Pip-Boy with the scrolls he had captured so that it had the functionality that they did. The process seemed to take forever, largely due to the differences in technology. However, the end result was that his Pip-Boy could now do everything that a Scroll could, thereby avoiding awkward questions.

He had also created all the accounts and registered for all that a person such as himself would have had as well as spending late nights hacking each site to fake a history of activity on them. If he was going to be stranded here, his story would need to be airtight; he could not afford even the slightest suspicion to be cast on him.

The Courier had purchased large amounts of Dust based ammunition in all calibers that he utilized. From his research, he discovered that dust based bullets did not break the sound barrier and in fact traveled significantly slower than their conventional counterparts. However, the Dust made them extremely effective against soft targets as the shape of shell impacted in a particularly brutal manner. The projectiles fared far less favorable against armored enemies or robots.

In that vein of thought, the Lone Wanderer had also discovered that most of the military was robotic. Peculiarly, the units were bipedal and looked generally rather humanoid. Fortunately, none of the units appeared to be sentient. He knew from President Eden, as well as the Institute, that bad things came from sentient AI. His Brotherhood of Steel side mandated that he keep a close eye on AI and weapons research to ensure that these people did not destroy the world again. An AI induced apocalypse would likely be more permanent than the nuclear one.

The educational system seemed very strange to the Courier, it appeared that a significant portion of children went to "combat schools" where they trained to be "huntsmen" and "huntresses". Contrary to the standard denotation of the words, huntsmen and huntresses primary purpose was to hunt not animals, but Grimm. The word choice of "huntsman" was strange. It was an archaic word, not ordinarily used and never in this context.

In addition, said huntsmen also fulfilled roles similar to pre-war SWAT or Germany's GSG9 in assisting law enforcement. He was not at all comfortable with this idea. While the wasteland was merciless to children, to him it was abhorrent that a apparently civilized society would use what amounted to child soldiers. Starting military training at so young an age was effectively indoctrination and something he found reminiscent of the Legion or the Agoge of ancient Sparta. Yet, things here gave no indication of a heavily militarized society.

This also meant that when he had created records and transcripts stating that he had been privately tutored, these were records largely of combat training.

The Lone Courier felt that his plan of integrating into this society and hiding in plain sight until he could get the Transportalponder working was proceeding well. So far, he had given no one any reason to suspect him of being anything other than the paperwork said he was. He was confident in his abilities to construct lies in the moment or deflect questions if someone tried to pry. Still, he did his best to avoid social interaction, mostly observing the habits of others. One of the strangest things about this place was that the vast majority of people he saw were happy.

While happiness was not rare in the wasteland, it was by no means the norm. Most likely due to the depressing atmosphere of the post-apocalypse, the majority of people had become pessimists. Burdened with the knowledge that they had been born into a destroyed world and believing that they would die without any positive change.

In Vale, it appeared, that everyone was the physical antithesis of this attitude. From their brightly colored clothes to the cheerful tone with which they spoke, the residents of Vale were overall far happier than existence than those of the wasteland. And why shouldn't they? They had a far higher standard of living than virtually anyone in the Wasteland. As well, they did not need to worry about their safety. Even with the ever-present threat of the Grimm, the citizens of Vale were still safer than the Mcnamara Brotherhood in their bunker.

Despite his best efforts, the Courier could not help but resent them for their obliviousness. While it was not the fault of Vale that millions of people a world away were suffering, the stark contrast in the quality of life felt unjust. He hoped that the technology that these people possessed could be brought back to the wasteland. It Could help both the NCR and the Lyons Brotherhood to rebuild civilization. Technologies that were taken for granted here would be invaluable in the wasteland.

The Lone Courier was awakened from his brooding by an unfamiliar noise that appeared to originate from his Pip-boy. it took a second for the Courier to realize that the sound was a result of him integrating the "scrolls" with his Pip-boy. In order to cease the dirty looks he was receiving, he tabbed into "data" and then into then went into the new "messages" section.

"Message: REMINDER: New student of Beacon Academy, please report to the Beacon skyport tomorrow at 2 pm for the start of the school year."

The Courier was aware that he was, quite frankly, totally screwed. He had not paid much attention when selecting his current educational enrollment and was now paying the the price. At the time, it was merely another box to fill. It was meant only to deceive those that checked his records, not have any tangible impact. Now, Beacon was aware of his existence. Great.

In his research, he had learned two things about Beacon: one, that it was a prestigious combat school. Two, that it was the many towered complex on top of the cliff in the center of the city. Now, with term apparently starting tomorrow, he had painted himself into a proverbial corner. Withdrawing from a prestigious school a day before the school year started would be highly unusual and most draw large amounts of unwanted attention from whomever dealt with administrative affairs at Beacon.

The problem with going to Beacon is that it would mean giving up most of his freedom. He would be constantly under observation and have to maintain an act twenty-four hours a day for however long he stayed there for. On the plus side, he would be receiving information about this new place and would remain in the city. Escaping observation should also not be too difficult. While it might slow his progress towards repairing the Transportalponder, it shouldn't hinder him too significantly. But that was besides the point. All in all, he really had no choice. The Lone Courier would be attending Beacon academy.


	11. Chapter 11 - Back to School

**AN:** And now, after nineteen thousand words, the Lone Courier is now entering the actual series.

Chapter 11 - Back to School

The Lone Courier knew that if he was actually going to attend this "Beacon" place tomorrow, he had his work cut out for him. Preparing to properly interact with an virtually unknown society in less than twenty-four hours was a tall order. Fortunately this place seemed nearly culturally and sociologically identical to pre-war civilization. That said, this would be by no means easy. He was after all, accustomed to the post apocalypse, not civilization. The closest thing to civilization he had experienced was back in Vault 101. The subject brought him nothing but bad memories. He sincerely hoped that Beacon was nothing like his Vault education. The Courier realized that he did not have time to think. He had much to do before he had to depart for Beacon.

Firstly, he would need to find out what was expected of him. A basic understanding of his obligations while at Beacon would be critical towards avoiding suspicion. He had no idea how much or how little scrutiny his story could endure. False paperwork would only go so far. If anyone sought more material evidence in regards to his background, this entire charade would be up. It was therefore imperative for him to give no one any cause to doubt him or perform even the most superficial looking into his past and identity.

Secondly, he would need to determine who he would be. Naturally the Courier could not act as his normal Wasteland self in context of a school, even a combat one. Bitterly cynical do-gooder was not the best face for infiltration. He therefore needed to decide what kind of persona he would be adopting.

There were two principal types of personalities, introverted and extroverted. Both had advantages and disadvantages to his objectives. Extroversion would allow him to deflect suspicion by being everybody's friend. By adopting the personality of one who it would be unthinkable to have any kind of meaningful secret he could discourage any investigation in regards to his past. Acting extroverted would also allow him to fight the Good Fight directly, even on the micro-level it would be reduced to in a school setting. However adopting an extroverted person had major downsides. He would end up having to give away more personal information than he was comfortable with sharing. While he had no real intention of giving away the truth, inquiries into his personal life would eventually lead to a web of lies that were largely created on the fly. His new identity needed to be well thought out, no made up on the spot. If he ever contradicted himself the game would immediately be up. So he found it preferable to give himself the least possible chances of failure.

Perhaps even more significantly, he would simply be outright more noticeable. The more people he interacted with, the more likely one of them would do some digging as to his background. This entire plan hinged on the idea that no one too smart or with too many resources became suspicious. Thus putting himself out there by befriending everyone was counter-intuitive.

The other option, introversion, had some benefits as well. Due to this being what he considered to be an extended covert operation, he would have more success if his assumed personality was closer to his actual one. The closer a lie was to the truth, the easier it was to sell it. The Courier knew that he was anything but a natural extrovert. He had a cynical and paranoid view of humanity as a whole. As well, by remaining quiet and not interacting with too many people, the Courier knew that he could limit the risk by limiting his exposure. The less people who know about him, the less people think about him, the less likely someone gets the idea to investigate his past.

However the Lone Wanderer also knew that if he was too quiet and antisocial he would attract even more attention than if he was extroverted, and of a more dangerous variety. If he was too quiet, someone might consider him "mysterious" and thus worth investigating. Which was exactly what he needed to avoid at all costs.

On the bright side, the fact that his father supposedly ran a company that specializes in classified military technology would explain certain things as well as give him the "that's classified" excuse. While this could also explain the technological level of some of the weapons he possessed, it would not be prudent for him to walk through the front door wearing his Winterized T-51B power armor and holding the Sprtel-Wood 9700. He would limit himself to conventional projectile weaponry and would use Dust based ammunition. While in his research he determined that Dust rounds used the same calibers as conventional rounds and the only real difference in utilization was that Dust rounds would wear out the barrels of his weapons quicker. Overall, a small price to pay to avoid questions.

His story was the most critical part of this whole deception. He needed to know every detail cold. He had been privately educated by a variety of tutors as well as his father. His mother had died giving birth to him. His father was terminally ill and his health had deteriorated over the last few years. This provided the excuse for the Courier to have involvement with the fake company and for his father not to appear publicly. He decided to leave the nature of his father's illness intentionally vague. The topic was not one that would come up even in highly personal conversations. The story also played a role in determining details of his persona. His background meant that he was well educated, which he was, even by pre-war standards. If there was one thing he could sincerely thank Vault-tec for it was for his education. Fortunately in the case of Vault 101, Vault-tec hadn't decided to mess with the education aspect, preserving much pre-war knowledge that would have otherwise been lost. Of course, the Courier had supplemented this basic education by reading just about everything he could get his hands on. The archives of both the Brotherhood of Steel and the Followers of the Apocalypse in addition to pre-war libraries held enough knowledge for the Courier to have a fairly in-depth understanding of most subjects. This included history, leading to him having a very dim view of human nature.

As for what weapons he should use, based on the threat the "Beowolves" he had fought posed, he was more than fine with only Maria and his trench knife. The Grimm were far more fragile than animals of the same size would be. They sublimated after being fatally wounded despite the fact that an animal would have still been entirely capable of fighting for minutes longer. .45 ACP and 9mm Parabellum should have barely annoyed beasts that size. Instead, virtually every shot was a kill-shot.

However he recognized that his habit of shooting creatures that size in the head due to past experiences with Yao Guai left him with a skewed sample size. The effectiveness of pistol caliber bullets to the center of mass on these creatures was an entirely different question altogether and might be more inline with what he had expected.

One thing that the Courier had learned in his readings on the Grimm was the sometimes literally unbelievably massive sizes they came in. Therefore in the event he encountered larger creatures or harder targets, he decided that it was a good idea to keep his Anti-Materiel Rifle with him. While the rugged and battle-worn appearance of the weapon did not fit with his image as having an incredibly wealthy background as much as say, Maria did, he had no alternative for firepower and materializing weapons was something he needed to avoid if at all possible. The Courier was aware that the digitization ability that his Pip-boy possessed would draw unwanted attention. Therefore, much to his own displeasure, he resolved to use this function as little as he was going to materialize and dematerialize things it needed to be in controlled conditions in which he could be certain he was not going to be observed. The heat of battle, was anything but that. The resolution to not utilize his Pip-Boy brought its own set of problems. The transportation of everything he needed would have to be done the old fashioned way.

With his newly acquired wealth, the acquisition of luggage took virtually no time at all, especially considering that . However, the time it took to purchase and pack the things that Beacon required of its students (a list found through less than honest means) meant that it was early evening by the time this simple task was completed. The Lone Courier was running out of time.

The Courier had rented a pre-furnished apartment in the up-side of town entirely remotely several day ago, immediately after setting up his identity; though he had spent virtually no time there. He had intentionally gotten a residence as close to Vale's Library, anticipating the vast amount of time he would spend absorbing the accumulated knowledge the building held. Of course, the whole "Beacon fiasco" forced him to abort his prior long term plans. With the exception of repairing the Transportalponder of course. Attending Beacon would slow his progress towards that goal, but hopefully it might prevent questions being asked. As it was, he could bear essentially no scrutiny and would have to rely on luck to not give the game away.

Now back in the apartment, the Courier now had to work on the most difficult task he had so far encountered. There seemed to be little information on the function of Aura and even less in the way of scientific data that pertained to its activation. Despite this, he had found out that it was something that was done at an early age, and someone such as himself would be expected to have it. Therefore, he would need to figure out how to activate it. Tonight.

As far as he knew, there were only two ways to activate a person's Aura: have someone else unlock it for them, or unlock it through deep concentration and discipline. While this was not much to go on, the Courier was determined to make it work. He had to.

Hours dragged by uneventfully. The Courier did not feel he was making any progress. His efforts to clear his mind seemed futile. For every memory he put out of his mind, another took its place. He typically always kept his mind active in order to prevent the feelings of guilt and regret that plagued him when left to his own thoughts. Despite this, he preserved. The hours passed with the Courier acutely noticing the passing of time. He had to force himself not to count the minutes.

Eventually, the Lone Wanderer stirred from his meditations, convinced that his efforts were futile and a different approach needed to be attempted. He was surprised therefore to discover an ethereal glow of a silvery sheen surrounding his form.

Initially, he was jubilant; it had worked! As the excitement faded however, he noticed that the glow seemed to be flickering. Even more damning than that was a feeling that his Aura was _weak_. Despite the lateness of the hour, the Lone Wanderer immediately set about diagnosing the issue.

Despite a lack of a definitive answer to his Aura deficiency, the Courier's best guess, was that it had not activated properly or entirely. In this stage, it felt nowhere near capable of stopping even a .22 round much less saving him from a high powered rifle. In the end, the Lone Courier hoped that this would be enough to satisfy the people at Beacon. He really didn't have the time to attempt to strengthen it before he had to leave. He had spent the entire night and morning getting as far as he had.

If he wanted to improve the strength of his Aura he would either need to continue with meditation exercises or find someone that he trusted enough to activate his Aura for him which he felt was unlikely.

He concluded that having weak Aura should be of little issue for him tactically. He had always previously fought without it and often against much more durable opponents without much in the way of armor.

He remembered his early days in the Capital Wasteland, shooting Super mutants with a bolt-action rifle wearing nothing but his Vault-Suit for protection. He had no nostalgia for those days. There was nothing but constant danger and fear of death that he had willingly subjected himself to because he wanted to play hero. He didn't regret it at all though, but it was beyond him to look back fondly on his own suffering.

At this point, all he could do was pack his things and get on the airship to Beacon. He had done all he could in the amount of time he had. The rest of it was up to luck.

The Lone Courier stood with his feet shoulder width apart and his hands clasped loosely behind his back as he watched the city of Vale pass slowly by through the viewport of the airship. The experience of watching a thriving metropolis pass below him was a surreal once to say the least, though his face showed no indication of his thoughts.

He was wearing his typical Vale attire of Benny's checkered suit and gold framed aviators. So far, he had not been bothered. Mirrored lenses tended to put off conversation. People milled around, conversing with one another or simply admiring the view, as he was. A sense of nervousness and anticipation filled the vehicle. The Courier, of course, did not share these feelings. He was far too jaded to worry about something this trivial. Instead of worrying, he made plans. That was how one survived in the Wasteland.

His silent observation was interrupted by a hologram (the technology of this place continued to impress him) delivering the news,

"The robbery was led by nefarious criminal Roman Torchwick (the Courier made sure to remember that name), who continues to evade authorities. If you have any information on his whereabouts, please contact the Vale police department. Back to you Lisa."

The Courier directed his attention towards the hologram and turned fully to face the broadcast. A silver haired woman continued,

"Thank you Ciril. In other news, this Saturday's faunus civil rights protest turned dark when members of the White Fang disrupted the ceremony the once peaceful organization has now disrupted-" the broadcast cut off suddenly, to be replaced with a blonde, middle aged, bespectacled woman of a stern demeanor.

"Hello and welcome to Beacon,"

this new figure started, "My name is Glynda Goodwitch. You are among the privileged few who have received the honor of being selected to attend this prestigious academy. Our world is experiencing an incredible time of peace (the Lone Wanderer mentally scoffed at that statement) and as future huntsmen and huntresses it is your duty to uphold it. You have demonstrated the courage needed for such a task, and now, it is our turn to provide _you_ with the knowledge and the training to protect our world."

The broadcast quickly faded. The Courier thought that if these hunters and huntresses were active in the wasteland, _his_ job as peacekeeper might be more manageable. However, upon looking around him, the kids that he saw did not look like they would do well in the Wasteland. Sure, they might be able to take down packs of raiders on their own, but no matter their combat prowess, it would not save them from betrayal or bad luck. They simply did not have the mentality required to fight what was effectively a constant war, both for ideals and survival. The whole Aura thing meant that it was likely none of them had taken a human (or Faunus, he reminded himself though he was reasonably certain Faunus were technically human) life. The ability to kill was critical to survival and something that could not easily be taught.

As the airship climbed higher, there was a collective ooh of appreciation for the vista that was seen through the viewports. The Lone Courier meanwhile, took the time to examine his fellow occupants. He needed to prioritize practical information. Most seemed utterly unremarkable, a conclusion supported by his optical scanner's analysis of low threat for most of them. Those that were not a low threat were further scrutinized by the Courier.

A male student of asian descent and a female with orange hair and nordic features both registered as moderate threats. They were standing close together and conversing though the conversation seemed rather one-sided. Their mannerisms indicated they knew each other well. Another pair was exhibiting similar familiarity. A tall blonde with purple eyes and a girl a head shorter than her with red tinted hair also were designated as of moderate strength. The Courier would keep a close eye on the individuals he had discovered. Both as a source of potential allies, and a list of potential threats.

Another as of yet unexplained peculiarity was the prevalence of unnatural hair and eye colors. He was not sure whether they were the result of regional mutations or dyes and colored contacts. The Courier worried briefly whether or not his lack of such colors would counterintuitively make him stand out. However, upon closer inspection of various individuals around him, there were enough with what he considered "normal" colors for his own features not to stand out. Besides, it wasn't like he could do anything about it at this point.

While the density of the crowd prevented observation of the majority of the students, one in particular stood out to him. And worried him. A roughly six foot tall red-headed girl was determined to be a high threat by his implant. This concerned the Courier because the last thing to be considered a high threat to him was the Legendary Deathclaw. That had gone relatively poorly, and he had the scars to prove it.

He would need to watch her carefully in order to find both the reason she was so dangerous as well as her motivations. Motives were as important as capability. If she was simply another student, her potential threat was irrelevant. However he would need to ensure this beyond any doubt. A person of considerable threat with ulterior motives was incredibly dangerous. He considered simply befriending her to mitigate the potential for conflict. Allies were preferable even to vanquished enemies. However he knew that an alliance with the powerful was never to be trusted. It was why the NCR were so wary of him after all. It was also the only reason the NCR had an alliance with the McNamara Brotherhood. The imbalance of power in favor of the NCR meant that they had nothing to fear from aligning with the Brotherhood.

And so the Lone Courier stood in the company of a bunch of highschoolers and determined which was the most dangerous and how he would kill them.

 **AN:** Wooo! I did it! I finally made it to the first episode. And it only took twenty thousand words! This should make things easier as I merely need to decide how the Lone Courier will affect the existing plot rather than generate an entire new one. It only took some serious messing around to get a correctly aged Lone Courier into Beacon without everyone knowing he has killed over a thousand people because, let's be real here, if team RWBY knew what he has done (all the morally correct choices in Fallout by the way) they would find him irredeemable.


	12. Chapter 12 - The Rekindled Beacon

Chapter 12 - The Rekindled Beacon

As the airship began to dock, the Courier, for the life of him, could not figure out how the things worked. By now he was seriously worried about how advanced these people were. Despite using (as far as he had seen) exclusively kinetic weaponry, they had technology that appeared to indistinguishable from magic, and even _they_ did not know how it worked _._ This entire scenario was a bigger recipe for disaster than the Megaton bomb. There was little more dangerous than mysterious technology. In his experience, they all to often ended up being super-weapons.

He prayed Remnant did not have nuclear weapons of their own. Their ignorance in regards to technology was enough to cause most members of the Brotherhood of Steel to have an aneurysm. The proliferation of unresearched technology was the antithesis of the organization. The Lone Wanderer merely knew that he and the Think Tank would have a lot of work to do if-when he managed to repair the Transportalponder. Re-establishing contact was the priority. Then he could reverse engineer these things. For now, he would simply keep an eye on the technological discoveries that Vale made to ensure that history would not repeat itself. He would do his best to prevent a second nuclear holocaust.

While most of the group continued on into the main building, the Courier (along with a few other students) paused to admire the view of the academy.

Attempting to tune out the conversations around him, the Courier set about analyzing the complex. The structure was most certainly impressive. The architecture was certainly unique. It seemed to have little in common with other architectural styles that the Courier knew of, suggesting that the structure had been built post-war. It appeared entirely unmarked by time, meaning that it was either built recently or was subject to regular enough maintenance to keep it in immaculate condition. There were a multitude of arches that were simplistic in shape and seemed to serve no purpose other than aesthetics. Surrounding the doors to the academy were large windows with elements of perhaps gothic design. Further away, the Courier could see a multitude of towers with several dozen spires as well as a large Byzantine dome. The Courier also took note of the victorian styled street lamps that lit the path to the main buildings. Hanging off the were teal banners with the outline of a clear circle in the center of them. From what he knew of vexillology these flags likely had no significance and were only present for aesthetic purposes.

The size of the place in comparison to the amount of students in attendance indicated a level of opulence reserved for the palaces of Sultans and Emperors. The amount of facilities here could house and train a large army even by pre-war standards. The Lone Courier felt a peculiar mix of disgust at the decadence, and awe at the aesthetics and skill at engineering required to create such monumental architecture.

The grandeur of the "school", if it could even be called that, appeared to be indicative of either a massive wealth gap or a misuse of taxes based on the fact that poverty was still a major issue in Vale. The central tower held numerous luminous orbs; presumably from which the academy derived its name. What the purpose of said orbs were however was still anyone's guess.

Next, the Lone Courier examined the structure from a tactical standpoint. Despite its resemblance to a castle, it was clearly not built for medieval defense due to the lack of secondary walls and thoroughly modern design. The entire place did not seem to be reinforced and a lack of security cameras and turrets indicated that if it had capabilities of defending against a modern military assault, they were well hidden. The absence of surveillance cameras meant that the Courier could move freely, even without using the stealth suit. This provided him with greater freedom than he had planned for. He had assumed he would be under constant observation. The lack of it meant that it was likely he could repair the transportalponder in less time than he anticipated.

The fact that the entire compound was built on a cliff as well as the fact that airships and knockoff vertibirds appeared to be the only way on and off worried the Courier. It meant that should his cover be blown, his escape options would be limited and more messy than he was ethically comfortable with. He was aware that even if the students of Beacon were hostile towards him they were (as far as he knew) morally innocent. Shooting his way out of a school was the farthest thing from desirable.

On the bright side, the cliff did give the location some very good natural defences. That in conjunction to the high amount of combatants here would mean he should never be in any real danger. However the word "should" was anything but a guarantee. The Courier would remain as paranoid as ever when his life was on the line.

As per usual, the Courier was snapped from his reverie by what one would classify a rude interruption. More unusually however, this particular one not only was not trying to kill him, but was in fact not even directed towards him; he was merely interrupted due to proximity.

Once the Courier became aware of his immediate surroundings, he quickly found himself in a situation that he had no experience dealing with and really wanted no part in. A few feet away, two teenage girls appeared to be arguing. Upon closer inspection, arguing was revealed to be the wrong word. One of the girls was yelling while the other, appeared to be desperately trying to apologize. The Lone Courier recognized the one being berated as the that had been standing next to the tall blonde in the airship. She was designated as a moderate threat if he remembered correctly. Now, the girl lay on the ground looking thoroughly chastised as an unfamiliar girl dressed entirely in white whined incoherently at her. From what he could tell, the one in white had about a dozen suitcases around her, some on a trolley and some on the ground. It seemed slightly excessive. However, the Courier realized he wasn't exactly one to talk considering how much stuff he had in his Pip-boy. If he had to empty the contents into suitcases, it would probably have been near twice the amount. Still unsure of what to do in this situation, the Courier just stood there, contemplating simply walking away and leaving them to it, while doing his best to pretend not to notice them.

 _BANG_

A massive explosion shattered the reclusive tranquil atmosphere of the outskirts of the academy.

The Lone Wanderer immediately dropped to the floor prone, face to the ground to shield himself from shrapnel. His heart raced a million miles an hour, his adrenaline pumping, his brain suddenly in combat mode. He felt a wave of heat and an accompanying shock wave impact him. The second it was over he bounded back to his feet, his ears still ringing.

"Ohmygoshareyouokayi'msosorryareyoualright?" the red one said.

It took Lone Wanderer a significant fraction of a second to comprehend the stream of consciousness that had been directed at him.

Realizing that despite the conditioned response his body had performed, he was not under attack; the Courier started to attempt damage control for his seemingly strange reaction.

"I'm alright. What caused that?"

The one wearing white responded,

" _She_ did!"

and promptly turned back to the other girl and continued her ruthless tirade.

"Unbelievable! This is exactly the kind of thing I was talking about!"

This went on for a few more sentences that the Courier simply ignored while attempting to be as invisible as possible. Both attempting to ensure that his reaction was forgotten and not get involved. Anymore involved than he already was, that is. Fortunately, the two kept their attention focused on the other.

The fact his mind remained in combat mode did not help things. This was compounded by the fact that he was surrounded by armed unknowns and he had not yet ascertained the cause of the explosion other than a vague accusation of the one in red by the one in white. This level of twitchiness was entirely involuntary and uncontrollable. And it was very dangerous. Both to his cover, and those around him.

His attention was regained when he simultaneously heard soft footsteps behind him and the one in red finally yelled back.

"Hey, I said I was sorry, princess!"

While the Lone Courier had not met a princess during his travels he was sure that the girl in white would fit the archetype. The Courier had intentionally not faced the source of the footsteps behind him, though it took much willpower not too. If he appeared to be too perceptive he might draw attention. He needed to refrain from displaying any unusual skill. His current state of mind made this difficult however, as it caused a drastic increase to his paranoia. He continually imagined the worst possible scenarios as to who it might be, many of them entirely irrational.

"It's heiress, actually."

All three of the people present turned to face the new arrival,

"Weiss Schnee, heiress to the Schnee Dust Company. One of the largest producers of energy propellant in the world."

While it took the Courier a second, he quickly comprehended that the girl wearing all white was named "white snow" in German. He assumed now that he was correct in his hypothesis that he was now in Europe, as even though the pronunciation was butchered so badly that in the Old World everyone who used it would be tried at the Hague for crimes against humanity, it would be too big of coincidence for a girl named white snow to be wearing entirely white.

The new figure wore entirely black and white (though weighted heavily towards the former) with a large bow atop her head, making it difficult for one to see her cat ears. She had strange, luminous amber eyes with enough resemblance to those of a cat for the Lone Wanderer to question whether they were a result of her being a Faunus or mere coincidence. He realized that so far she was the first Faunus he had met who did not want to kill him.

Weiss (as the Courier now knew her to be named) responded smugly,

"Finally, some recognition!"

The Courier found it distasteful how proud White was of her parentage, something that was entirely out of her control. In any case, she was immediately shut down by the one in monochrome who stated,

"The same company infamous for its controversial labor forces and questionable business partners."

White became flustered and left in a huff. Significantly, the Courier noted, she never actually denied any of the allegations. It appeared that even here, companies as morally bankrupt as Vault-Tec and Poseidon Energy thrived. This interaction had, if nothing else, gained him some very useful information.

The Lone Courier worried that his own position in the upper strata of society might put him on the wrong side should a class war break out. From what he had perceived, the disparity in wealth distribution and evident corrupt corporations made the potential for conflict real. There seemed to be enough of a middle class to prevent a communist revolution, but the current state of affairs ensured a bare minimum of civil unrest. There was anything he could or would do about any of that.

This also provided the Courier with an indication of Human-Faunus relations. The Faunus acted quite confidently and showed no signs of being an oppressed underclass. Nor did either of the two humans act at all differently towards her or bring up her race. Although, the Courier allowed for the possibility that they simply did not make out her second pair of ears as her bow did an excellent job of concealing them. The phrase "second pair of ears" caused the Courier to resolve to research Faunus anatomy and how that would work.

The Faunus left only a few seconds after White did, which the Courier took as his cue to leave, heading towards where all the other students went leaving the girl in red on her own.


	13. Chapter 13 - The Least Sinister of Plans

**AN** **:** When I first came up with the idea of doing a RWBY crossover I did not consider just how unfriendly the entire series was to crossovers. It is virtually impossible to insert a character into the plot of the show without massive suspension of disbelief from the audience or the author simply ignoring the issues that arise. The other issue is that diverging from the original plot of the show without going full AU is virtually impossible due to the unfinished nature of the universe.

While I could have done what the majority of writers in this category have done and simply ignored the issues inherent in a RWBY crossover I attempted to provide an explanation for them. While many of these (in my own opinion) are fairly weak, I ask you to bear with me as these are measures to prevent trivial matters from obstructing the canon plot. The weakness of the excuses can be attributed to the fact that the more creative I am with my reasoning and original plot, the greater the chance that future canon will be totally wrecked by what is meant to be an insignificant detail. There are multiple theories about how admission to Beacon is done.

1.) Anyone who passes the entrance exam is accepted into Beacon.

2.) A fixed amount of people who score highest are accepted.

3.) The entire process is secretive and based largely off Ozpin's personal opinion.

All of these are canonically viable. For the purpose of this story, I will assume that it is the first one. Otherwise Jaune would be an awful person for faking his transcripts if he displaced someone who deserved to be there. The third idea would also present problems for an infiltration. Unless Ozpin knows of course.

Chapter 13 - The Least Sinister of Plans

As Ruby Rose let out a sigh of defeat and slumped to the ground, she reflected on how she ended up here. Ruby was not having a good day. She had been equal parts nervous and excited about attending Beacon, and her day so far indicated that she had been right to be nervous. Yang had abandoned her almost instantly and so far she had made one enemy and two...acquaintances? She wasn't even sure she could call them that. She didn't even know either of their names! The girl in black and the boy in white had both left before she could ask them. So much for making friends.

Ruby couldn't believe that she had already managed to _literally_ blow herself up. Not to mention simultaneously managing to blow up the boy in white and the heiress. Ugh. It was so embarrassing.

They both dressed _very_ similarly, both with the exact same color pallette. Though, the other girl also wore black and white. Why did everyone she had met so far wear black and white? The two in white seemed to be totally different in terms of their actual personalities though. At least, based on their respective reactions to the explosion. The boy seemed to have gotten the worst of it, given his reaction, but did not seem to hold it against her. At all actually. Ruby found that a bit strange, but she certainly wouldn't complain at not having another person mad at her.

Deciding she had spent enough time on the ground wallowing in self pity, Ruby picked herself up and began to wander towards the main entrance. After all, with how bad things had been, things could only get better right? Ruby, as ever, remained optimistic.

It was not difficult for the Lone Courier to play the part of a clueless new student. He had chosen the role carefully. Due to either mismanagement or user error, most students in fact initially had no idea where they were going. Therefore, through a healthy combination of eavesdropping and following the crowd, the Courier managed to get all essential administrative tasks completed without drawing attention.

All his information had checked out (much to his relief). While he had no reason to believe that anything would go wrong, he knew it was better to prepare for the worst and hope for the best. In all his interactions the Lone Wanderer took care to use unusually erudite vocabulary yet maintain a friendly tone and demeanor. He needed to appear both well educated enough to befit his status and friendly enough to not appear aloof. Acting like that "Weiss" girl would only serve to estrange him from the basically everyone. Being an outsider was noticeable. And being noticed was specifically what he was trying to avoid.

The Lone Courier was becoming concerned about his progress towards his objective. While Beacon would provide him with information about Remnant and Vale, none of it would matter unless he was able to fix the transportalponder. While this place would be a nice one to retire to, he could not afford rest on his laurels when the rest of the world was in such a miserable state.

The Courier waited by himself in the great hall for some minutes, totally oblivious to the world around him. Well, as oblivious as he could be, what with his unfortunate combination of hyper perception and paranoia. While they served him well enough in situations that necessitated both, in a crowded room they made life hell. Anyone moving or looking towards him or even in his general direction caught his attention, forcing him to track their movements and be constantly on edge for any potential threat.

His attention was captured once "Glynda Goodwitch" appeared once again, this time in person, next to a gray haired man wearing perfectly circular glasses with lens that seemed far too small to do their job. The Lone Wanderer assumed that this was the headmaster of the academy based on his bearing and prominent position. The hall became silent as he began to speak.

"I'll... keep this brief. You have traveled here today in search of knowledge, to hone your craft and acquire new skills, and when you have finished, you plan to dedicate your life to the protection of the people. But I look amongst you, and all I see is wasted energy, in need of purpose, direction."

As he said this a murmur of whispers pervaded the room.

"You assume knowledge will free you of this, but your time at this school will prove that knowledge can only carry you so far. It is up to you to take the first step."

The Courier found this entire speech to be highly peculiar. It was not very motivational, especially not to a bunch of _kids_ who were the very embodiment of wasted energy. It seemed the headmaster was advocating for professionalism? The subsequent part about knowledge not freeing one from a state of inefficiency was true. Technical knowledge was not a substitute for wisdom and experience. Moira Brown was the perfect example she was quite smart, and gifted technically. However she would not last any time outside the safety of Megaton. It was why she had recruited the Lone Wanderer after all.

The next part of the headmaster's speech, "It is up to you to take the first step," seemed to simply mean that as this was not a military, discipline would have to be derived from internal sources rather than external requirements. It seemed this would be more like ordinary school than he had anticipated.

As the headmaster walked away, Goodwitch delivered the next instructions.

"You will gather in the ballroom tonight; tomorrow, your initiation begins. Be ready. You are dismissed."

The word "initiation" had some massively negative connotations to the Lone Courier. The ones that came to mind were the time that he had to dodge artillery fire, and that time he had part of his brain removed (not to be confused with the time he had his entire brain removed, which was an entirely separate instance.)

Even in a civilized place like this he was still suspicious. A feeling that was further reinforced by the whispers of the others as they walked that indicated that they also did not know what this initiation was. That was a bad sign. There couldn't be any positive reason for keeping the contents of the initiation a secret.

While the Courier had done many things that others would classify as reckless, even suicidal, he was out at the first sign of hallucinogens. He was _not_ willing to endure a repeat of Point Lookout. The Datura root incident in Zion was bad enough. Based on what he dreamt about, he didn't even want to think about what he might see if he was drugged again.

Of course, this assumed that his artificial heart either would not recognize or simply nullify the chemical. In a worst case scenario the heart might mistake a hallucinogen for a chem, with the heart distributing them for maximum efficiency.

The headmaster himself had felt a bit...off for lack of better term. There was something about the man that didn't feel right. The Courier found the feeling difficult to identify. He wasn't sure what it was, but the Courier would certainly not trust the headmaster until he knew more.

The Courier was now uncertain of what to do. There were no clear instructions given or major objective that he could pursue at present. Of course, his masterful poker face gave no sign of his internal doubt. To the rest of the world, the Lone Wanderer appeared entirely stoic. After a brief mental deliberation, the Courier decided that he would do what he normally did and started to explore the campus. He would do so until nightfall, when he was expected to report to the ballroom.

While the world map function on his Pip-Boy was still useless due to lack of a Robco satellite, the local function that created a map from places that he had been was still operational. A thorough knowledge of the area he would be staying in for an extended period would provide him with a home field advantage against an exterior assault and at least even the odds against an internal one.

Not having any real idea of where the ballroom actually was, the Lone Courier followed the crowd, taking special care to be lost in it, which was difficult, all things considered; his considerable height and checkered suit was more atypical in what amounted to a glorified high school than it was on the streets. Still, all the infiltrations performed throughout his wasteland career provided him with the ability to largely escape notice and hide effectively in plain sight.

The Lone Courier felt that he was in a unique (for him) dilemma as he knew that in addition to exploration, he needed to create some social connections in the form of, if not friendships, at least casual acquaintances. As he had considered earlier, if he was too much of loner, he would be the object of curiosity while, if he had too many friends, the same would happen. He would also need to be careful not to create "deep" friendships where the other party might become interested in the finer details of his past. He didn't want actual friends, he wanted people to think they were friends. Going native wasn't somethings he had time for.

He momentarily thought back to the only interaction he had had that remotely resembled a conversation. In hindsight the Courier realized that the explosion incident was both a missed opportunity and an embarrassing failure at socializing. In the end, the only person's name he learned from that incident was White's, and he figured that a friendship with her would likely do more harm than good.

 _"Speak of the devil and he (or in this case she) shall appear,"_

the Lone Wanderer thought to himself as he spotted the distinctive white clothing of White.

While his cybernetic eye implant was invisible when inactive, it emitted a slight glow when he used its scanning function. The concealment of this effect was one of the reasons that he wore sunglasses. A glowing eye was not the most subtle of qualities. The Courier now scanned the girl.

Threat: moderate.

The Lone Wanderer noted that despite the White's arrogance, she evidently had the skills to back it up. Still, while she was a cut above the rest, based on his analysis, she was only as dangerous as Red and Yellow were. She had no business acting superior.

Thus, the Lone Courier continued to walk among the students of Beacon plotting relationships with a deviousness that would be appropriate in the most corrupt of feudal courts, all while the students gossiped and joked about inane subjects typical of teenagers in the first world, blissfully ignorant of violence and chaos that awaited them.

 **AN:** Not much plot occurred in this chapter, just working my way through the course of the series.


	14. Chapter 14 - Degrees of Success

**AN:** Sorry for this taking so long. This chapter took a while to write. It has about as much dialogue as the rest of the story put together. Basically, when rewatching the episode that is concurrent to this chapter, I noticed a massive gap between day and night. Scenes can be changed far more easily in a visual medium than a written one. Therefore I felt the need to invent something that happened in the time gap. So, I decided to use this to introduce another one of the characters. Much of the delays were caused by my internal debate on who I should introduce. Initially I intended it to be Jaune, but I decided to go with a more interesting encounter. I also attempted to change perspective during this chapter. Tell me how it went.

Chapter 14 - Degrees of Success

Pyrrha rounded the corner and walked directly into a wall. She had taken the first opportunity to escape from the harassment (or endless praise, depending on who you asked) of her innumerable fans.

She did not know the layout of Beacon well enough to know where exactly she was going, but, if it lacked people to bother her it was good enough. It had been over an hour since she had left the clutches of the other students and had been pleasantly surprised to find no one else in her wanderings.

Now however, the famous champion was in the thoroughly undignified position of having fallen down after walking into tall solid object. Upon closer inspection, the object in question appeared to be wearing a black and white checkered suit. As the disorientation faded Pyrrha became aware that the person she had collided with was speaking to her.

"Are you alright?" the stranger repeated. She shook her head to clear it and sat up.

"I'm alright, thank you," Pyrrha said in her typically formal manner. She took the man's proffered hand and rose to her feet.

"My apologies, Miss…"

Pyrrha was surprised by his formality. It was unusually, almost painfully formal for someone their age. They also did not typically wear suits, she thought wryly. The entire situation was both intriguing and peculiar largely because, whoever he was, he did not seem to recognize her. She responded quickly,

"Nikos, Pyrrha Nikos."

"Markus Friedrich," the Courier said,

"My apologies for running into you. I was not paying attention to my surroundings."

The Lone Courier was really starting to regret his choice in identity. All of his sentences sounded overly formal and painfully stilted. Before he could attempt to say something that was more casual, Pyrrha responded.

"It's not your fault, I wasn't paying attention either."

"So, where were you going?" Markus asked, attempting to make casual conversation as they both walked in the same direction. He decided that it might be prudent to dial back his formality; it made conversation awkward.

"Just wandering; trying to escape the attentions of the crowd. What about you?"

"The same but for different reasons," he responded.

The Courier was wary of her due to her high threat assessment. He noted that she appeared far more professional in demeanor than most of the others seemed to be; even more so than White, who was an heiress and would thus be expected to have a degree of professionalism. The remark about "escaping the attentions crowd" indicated some level of fame or infamy that she was uncomfortable with but accustomed to. While the statement could be seen as arrogant in most contexts, Markus knew from her tone and nonchalant manner with which she stated it that she was not attempting to brag. Her name was also intriguing. Now, in addition to a German name, he had found a Greek one. While this supported the idea that he was in Europe further, it did little to determine where on the continent he was.

While her potential threat made him inwardly wary, he showed no sign of it. He suspected that her celebrity status was directly related to her combat prowess. He decided to risk asking about the subject. While he might appear suspiciously ignorant, he could always come up with some reason that he was too busy to pay attention to what she was famous for. Besides, even if Pyrrha thought his lack of knowledge to be strange, she would not set out on a massive investigation to find out his life story.

"'Attentions of the crowd'?" The Courier asked.

Pyrrha was glad to see that at least one person did not know who she was though she was curious as to why.

"Winning tournaments draws far more attention than one would like. It's hard to find anyone who doesn't know of me."

Pyrrha was conscious of the difficulty inherent in both informing him of her fame and not sounding arrogant. The last thing she needed was yet another sycophant. That said, she cringed internally at how she had phrased it. She had never been very good at this kind of thing and it was showing.

Markus noticed the difficulty with which Pyrrha had constructed the sentence. Her awkwardness in how hard she tried not to appear arrogant was somewhat amusing. Unfortunately, he now had to provide a plausible explanation for his ignorance.

"I don't typically have the chance to pay attention to tournaments. Especially recently due to...family troubles."

The Courier's inflection on the phrase "family troubles" indicated that it was something that was best left unmentioned. It all but manipulated Pyrrha into feeling irrationally awkward and guilty for having brought the subject up.

Pyrrha felt a bit guilty for having asked about something that was clearly painful for Markus. Therefore, she swiftly changed the subject.

"Do you know anything about the initiation tomorrow?

"She was not actually looking for an answer rather than simply attempting to change the subject as quickly as possible and said the first thing that came to mind.

He shrugged.

"Only what they told us. You?"

It took Pyrrha a second to realize that she had been asked a question.

"Just rumors. From what I've heard, it's supposed to split us into teams."

"Teams?" asked Markus. He was not thrilled at the idea of being assigned to a team. Typically, that ended quite badly for his teammates. Lethally badly.

"Supposedly a small group that we remain with for all four years. It's all rumors though; nothing confirmed," Pyrrha said.

This worried him further. Depending on how much time they were expected to spend together it would make it difficult for him to covertly work on the transportalponder. It was also likely that they would also be expected to be close friends making prying into his past virtually inevitable. He would need to flesh out the background of his identity. His memory and acting needed to be impeccable in order to avoid suspicion. Any even momentary lapse was enough to ruin the entire thing. Overall he was not entirely comfortable with his odds if the teams were small and intimate.

They continued walking together, neither having anything to say nor any reason for their paths to diverge. The silence however was not awkward. Both were rather quiet people, and were perfectly content not making inane conversation for its own sake.

Naturally during this seemingly companionable silence the Lone Courier was constantly analyzing. This development was entirely unexpected. He had truly not been paying attention as he had not expected to meet anyone else during his wanderings. Markus felt that his first proper conversation gone rather well. He had acquired information without revealing anything significant about himself and felt that he had made an acceptable first impression. Things were far more nuanced here than they were back in the wasteland. While manipulation was still as easy (if as morally dubious) as always, casual conversation was never his strong suit, especially with people as sheltered as these. He evidently had a likable persona and was gifted in public speaking as well as debate due to his charismatic nature (Charisma 10.) Despite his considerable abilities with people, the psychological damage he had sustained meant that he was very withdrawn and quiet. As per usual, the Courier was interrupted from his musings.

"What's that on your arm?" Pyrrha asked, indicating his Pip-Boy.

The Lone Wanderer mentally sighed. He had anticipated this question. Now, he had to hope that his answer was sufficient explanation.

"It's a prototype Personal Information Processor. Essentially a ruggedized scroll."

Markus explained.

"It has other functions, but I'm not really supposed to talk about them."

He made sure to sound slightly apologetic in order to further deflect suspicion. He prepared himself mentally for the inevitable secondary question.

"Where did you get it?"

The Lone Wanderer had his explanation ready.

"My father owns a high end R&D company. It does a lot of classified projects. This is basically a field test for it."

Now all he had left to do was pray that it made sense.

To Pyrrha, this revelation made everything make sense. His overly formal language was likely due to his privileged upbringing and extensive education. His strange device was a prototype given to him for field testing by his father's company and the reason he did not know of her was that she suspected that sons of wealthy businessmen did not typically have the time to pay attention to the outcome of tournaments, even important ones. As her train of thought ran its course, Pyrrha noticed that it seemed to be far darker than it was when they had met. A quick glance at the sun confirmed her suspiscions. The sun was swiftly disappearing beyond the horizon.

"We should get to the ballroom soon. Do you know where it is?" Markus nodded.

"I found it earlier. Shall we?"

He gestured in a direction that Pyrrha presumed was that of the ballroom.

And so Pyrrha Nikos and Markus Friedrich walked in silence towards the ballroom. Pyrrha happy she had succeeded in making her first friend and Markus happy to have successfully held a conversation. And, more importantly, without drawing suspicion.

 **AN:** Read nothing into this chapter. Pyrrha was chosen for no particular reason except that she was one of the few people that Courier had not spoken to. This is not a setup for a pairing. I will only do a pairing if it makes sense in the context of the story. At this point, the Lone Courier finds the very idea of any of these people literally laughable. However, an unrequited affection from Pyrrha to the Lone Wanderer is entirely possible. The only reason that Pyrrha like Jaune is that he treats her like a normal person. Markus is likewise ignorant of her accomplishments.


	15. Chapter 15 - Peace and Nightmares

**AN:** After rewatching the initiation, I have come to the eventual conclusion that this story will be slightly AU in that, unlike the show, it will be internally consistent. Cartoon physics will not apply. Things that can be explained by Aura or Semblance will be unaffected. It's just things like Yang being able to fly or Blake running up a 90 degree wall that are entirely unexplained that will be not included.

Chapter 15 - Peace and Nightmares

Markus and Pyrrha parted ways involuntarily upon rejoining the mass of people headed towards the ballroom. Markus had preemptively drifted slightly away from her in order to prevent being trampled in the inevitable mobbing. Still, he couldn't help but empathize with the girl; he knew the burden of fame all too well. He couldn't even go to the New Vegas anymore because of all the drunk (and even some of the sober) members of the NCR.

While his involvement with the nation's military campaigns had largely ended, that did not stop the incessant hero-worship from the citizens. They didn't seem to grasp that if he was in Vegas, it was not for pleasure but rather that he actually had something important to do. The civilian women were the worst however.

While the soldiers (of both genders) would simply buy him a drink (which the Courier didn't have a problem with) the civilians had become entirely ridiculous and quite frankly fanatical. They did insane things such as asking to name their offspring after him. Not "Markus" mind you, they didn't know his actual name, these lunatics wanted to name their child "Courier" which was basically child abuse.

He had even heard rumors of cults both among Legion slaves and the civilians of the NCR. The Legion slaves viewed him not only as a vengeful spirit like the Burned Main, but also as a symbol of hope for liberation. While this was not an issue and may prove to be beneficial, the obsession from NCR civilians was another matter entirely. That was a problem that he had no idea how to even begin to solve. It was not a problem that you could shoot, talk, or hack your way to the solution. He hoped that the NCR would handle it internally, unlike everything else. Still, while he empathized with Pyrrha, he noted that it was far more amusing when it happened to someone else. First world problems made for the best schadenfreude.

The Ballroom's interior was just opulent as Beacon's exterior was. The amount of wealth required to construct something of the magnitude of the academy in comparison to the economic state of Vale meant that the concentration of wealth required for its construction was either the result of more prosperous days or, more likely, extensive economic exploitation, similar to that of Old World corporations. He already knew of one Snow Dust Company that engaged in shady business practices. It was likely this place was built by an equally dubious party.

The Lone Wanderer reminded himself to keep an eye on the SDC's activities and, by extension, those of its heiress. He intended to ensure that a immoral company would not destroy this haven. If the company showed any indication of becoming an existential threat to society then he would have to deal with it. Preventing this place from being destroyed was as, if not more important than getting the Transportalponder fixed. There was no pressing need for him to swiftly return to the wasteland. Preserving one of the few functioning civilizations in the world was priceless. Of course, it didn't seem likely he _would_ actually have to do anything of the sort while he was here. This place had its own protectors who appeared to have things well in hand.

As for watching the heiress, that would allow him to determine the long term development of the company. As the word "heiress" implied she would inherit, her actions could give him insight into both the future of the company, and the man running it. Like daughter like father. So far, the Courier had a poor impression of both.

On this train of thought, the Courier remembered that he needed flesh out Vale's Vault-Tec Corporation that his father supposedly owned. While currently, the information available would hold up under scrutiny, he needed to ensure that once the matter digitalization properties of his Pip-Boy were revealed, the company would provide a plausible explanation. The publishing of false research papers with experiments that either took years to complete or cost inordinate amounts of money would prevent both the dissemination of the technology and prolong his secrecy.

The Lone Courier knew that it was merely a matter of time before someone would get suspicious. While government classification would provide reasons that most people would be unable to find out about Vault-Tec, eventually someone with high enough clearance would notice its existence. Therefore either he could simply delay the inevitable, as well as hope that the person who became suspicious lacked the power needed to thoroughly investigate his past or, as an alternative create an actual company with all the facilities that a corporation like Vault-tec would possess.

The second option would be virtually impossible however as he was basically stuck at Beacon. In addition, the simple fact remained that he was not keen to introduce technology to this place that it was not responsible enough to handle. If the Great War had taught humanity anything, it was that the Brotherhood of Steel were right in worrying about where technology ended up. As a rule, the more advanced technology was, the more dangerous it was.

After he had retrieved his luggage from where it had been unloaded from the airship, Markus analyzed in his typical fashion the arrangement of the occupants of the Ballroom. The prospective students appeared to be preparing for bed. The room was informally divided in half by gender.

Naturally, he immediately searched for the most secluded corner on the correct side. He trusted no one in this place yet and had no idea of how secure the school was in general. Besides, he had had enough social interaction for one day. The less people that knew him, the less people would question him. Seclusion would provide him with the advantage should anything happen. He didn't expect anything to, but he prepared for it nevertheless.

Setting up did not take him long. He then spent most of his time just staring into space yet constantly alert in regards to movement towards him. He eventually sought to distract himself from his memories and started to analyze those that he recognized. Pyrrha was not visible from where he was, potentially because she was thronged by adoring fans or because she was avoiding them. Both were equally likely.

Red and Yellow appeared to be together again, though they didn't seem to be doing anything significant. Neither did any of the other moderate threats.

Since the majority of people appeared to be attempting to sleep, any movement caught the Courier's attention. Therefore he was instantly alert when Red and Yellow got up and approached Black. Black appeared to have had the same idea as Markus did and had found the most secluded corner on her side of the room. This was evidently not enough to prevent the interruptions of others. The Lone Courier watched disinterestedly as Yellow and Red attempted (and failed) to hold a conversation with Black. While he could have listened, he simply could not find it in himself to care enough. Black's overly large bow seemed strange to Markus. It was quite unusual as it did not fit with the fashion that appeared to be prevalent nor did it serve any practical purpose he could see. Of course, the Courier assumed that it was likely unimportant and that she was most likely just an angsty teen trying to be nonconformist. Even he had a degree of self-awareness of just how paranoid he was. Sometimes a bow was just a bow. However, distrust couldn't kill him while betrayal might.

Markus' attention was recaptured by yelling. Evidently White was complaining again which escalated into a full on argument between White, Red, and Yellow. The incessant bickering was getting annoying. Thankfully, Black had the presence of mind to snuff out her candle which, being the last remaining light source, plunged the room into total darkness and finally ended the argument. Now, the Lone Courier was left in the dark with naught but that which he feared most: his memories.

 **AN:** So, the results of the opinion poll are in.

Option 1: 4.5

Option 2: 11.5

Option 3: 1.5

Option 4: 3

Overwhelmingly, people want Jaune to go. This is one of my preferred options. Interaction with the mains is something that I very much intend to happen in this story. I generally am not a fan of having more than one developed OC (a slot which is filled by Markus) in a story. It makes it more difficult to determine the effects of the main OC. Basically, the options at this point are between him being added to team RWMBY or replacing Jaune on team MRPN as JNPR would now be renamed.


	16. Chapter 16 - Butterfly to Bear

_Iacta Alea Est_

 **AN:** The decision has been made, on both a democratic and an executive level, Jaune is officially removed from space and time in this universe. He is now effectively an unperson. He never existed. To those concerned about Jaune being potentially important in the future: well, as he is basically a canonical "self-insert" for Miles, it is likely he will actually be significant. However, I have confidence that I will be able to deal with it. Worst case scenario, I have to make a more original story. I found a team name that follows the color naming rule. Here's a hint: it's called MRPN.

Chapter 16 - Butterfly to Bear

 _Earlier_

Contrary to her expectations, Ruby's first day at Beacon had not gotten any better. She had spent most of her time lost and lonely. She entered the Ballroom despondently and maintained the bearing as she settled down in her sleeping bag and started writing. The nostalgia of writing to her friends who were back at signal eased some of the disappointment that came from the dubious achievement of having made a grand total of negative one friend. Ruby had become so engrossed in her writings that she almost didn't notice Yang plopping down next to her. Almost.

"It's like a big slumber party!" the blond exclaimed, ignorant of the contrast between her exuberance and her sister's misery.

"I don't think Dad would approve of all the boys, though," Ruby said.

"I know **I** do!" Yang responded, either intentionally disregarding or not noticing her sister's gloom.

Yang spent a while ogling the shirtless male students. Eventually, she got bored and returned her attention to Ruby.

"What's that?" Yang asked.

"Oh, just a letter to the gang back at Signal. I promised to tell them all about Beacon and how things are going."

Yang squealed in an embarrassingly sisterly manner.

"Aw, that's so cuuuute!"

The noise was promptly stifled by the impact of a pillow to her face.

"Shut up! I didn't get to take my friends with me to school! It's weird not knowing anyone here!"

Ruby said, bemoaning her utter lack of a social life and so far total failure at acquiring one.

"What about…" Yang tried to think of anyone that her sister might know, but so far Weiss was the only person she knew of.

"Weiss is basically the only person I've even spoken to, and I'm pretty sure she counts as a negative friend."

Seeking to comfort her sister, the blonde said,

"Look, it's only been one day. Trust me; you've got friends all around you! You just haven't met them yet!"

Their discussion was interrupted due to their mutual distraction by the ignition of a candle nearby. As they examined the source of the illumination, Ruby remembered the morning, as well as the painfully awkward incident that had occurred.

"That girl…" said Ruby. "You know her?" the blonde asked.

"Not really. She saw what happened this morning, but left before I could say anything."

This also brought back memories in the boy in the checkered suit who had done the same. Ruby briefly scanned the room attempting to locate him. Before she could make much progress, her sister grabbed her by the arm and started to unceremoniously drag her towards the girl in black while Ruby resisted entirely futilely.

While the conversation was not initially promising, upon Ruby's expression of her love for reading Blake, as they found out her name to be, opened up more to them and actually engaged in conversation.

"I love books," Ruby said, "Yang used to read to me every night before bed. Stories of heroes and monsters… They're one of the reasons I want to be a Huntress!"

Blake laughed almost derisively at that,

"And why is that? Hoping you'll live happily ever after?"

This however, did not damage Ruby's ever-present optimism in the slightest.

"Well, I'm hoping we all will. As a girl, I wanted to be just like those heroes in the books… Someone who fought for what was right, and protected people who couldn't protect themselves!"

Blake's cynical nature asserted itself as she said,

"That's… very ambitious for a child." Her face fell mid sentence,

"Unfortunately, the real world isn't the same as a fairy tale."

Still, Ruby's attitude refused to be dampened by cynicism. She was too convinced to be dissuaded by naysayers.

"Well, that's why we're here! To make it better."

It was why Ruby had always wanted to become a huntress after all. She had always wanted to be a hero, someone fighting to make the world a better place, helping those that couldn't help themselves.

This declaration was followed by a bone-crushing hug from Yang. A brief fight between the sisters, and an argument with Weiss later, and all the lights were out. All the students began trying to sleep, even Markus, despite how much he dreaded the dreams.

The next morning, Markus completed what one would consider to be a normal morning routine with legendary efficiency. Despite his fears, the dreams had not been anywhere near as bad as usual. Perhaps being somewhere that wasn't an irradiated hellhole was good for his mind though he suspected it more had to do with the lack of constant assassination attempts here. Even in the Sink he was forced to maintain a healthy degree of paranoia. It wasn't exactly secure, and at one point a lobotomite managed to get in. It took ages to get the smell of blood out of there.

His speed meant that he was the first one in the room of weapons lockers. They had been assigned earlier, prior to the headmaster's speech. The choice of which weapon to store in his luggage (and by extension the locker) had been a difficult one. Putting his handgun and trench knife in was out of the question, as he needed to be prepared at all times. He had not yet assessed the security of the school and in any case had no confidence in anything other than his own capabilities.

Maria was only 9mm and, as he knew first-hand, had relatively low stopping power. He needed something that would be able to deal with the larger Grimm he encountered. While he could explain most weapons in his arsenal by either stating they were made by himself or his father's company, something like a Gauss rifle or Esther would cause inquiry regardless of his excuses. This was one of the few situations he had been in in which overkill was not desirable. It was because of this that he had chosen to pack the Hécate II Anti-Materiel Rifle. It was a weapon that he knew the people here had variants of, and had a large enough caliber for anything he would likely encounter and was precise enough that he could safely use it everywhere except urban areas. Even hollowpoint and Dust based .50 cal had substantial danger of over penetration. Civilian casualties were something he would avoid at all costs.

Markus walked slowly towards his locker, waiting as others slowly filtered past him. He was in no rush. The redheaded moderate threat appeared to be incessantly bugging the Asian moderate threat. However, the Lone Courier overtly paid no attention to them. Their conversation appeared to be largely inane and one sided, but it supported Pyrrha's intel that they would be split into teams. In his mind, Pyrrha was now consider the most credible source he had here.

Further down he walked through an argument between Red and Yellow, raising an eyebrow at them but not stopping. From what he overheard, without making an effort to overhear, Red was apparently not very socially apt. " _Who would have thought_ ," he thought sarcastically. On a more serious note, her position of both being younger than everyone else here (if White had been correct) and being socially inept meant that it was likely she could be easily manipulated. Essentially, this meant that he could interact with her relatively safely. It was people with significant social skills he needed to worry about. They were the ones that might find something off about him.

The Courier then began to consider which attachments he would use on the weapon. While a suppressor would prevent the attraction of attention towards his locations, he suspected that subtlety would not be an option. Grimm did not require the sound of gunfire to determine his position. Besides, using a suppressor would doubtlessly cause questions. It wasn't something typically used by those not involved in covert operations. It had no real purpose other than to kill people quietly. Having a suppressor indicated that he had done so. The last thing he needed was suspicion. So, he would do this without his suppressor. This was going to hurt his ears.

Having arrived at his locker, he was totally engrossed in the assembly of the Hécate II. He naturally used the lighter carbon fiber frame for purposes of increased mobility and easier recoil management. Since he did not know what challenges he would face during initiation he did not want to hobble himself unintentionally by increasing his weight more than necessary.

Markus also used the custom bolt. The increase in rate of fire would be needed if he faced multiple targets at once, an eventuality that was quite likely should he face the Grimm. He very wished he had managed to get his hands on a Barrett M82. The semi-automatic fire capabilities would have been useful in helping prevent him from being swarmed. He acknowledged that more realistically a Browning M2 would have served him better against a horde of hard targets however he didn't carry one given its rate of fire and the scarcity of .50 cal ammo.

In a matter of seconds, the assembly of the Anti-Materiel Rifle was completed. After slinging it across his back, the Courier realized there was but one thing expected of him. Everyone else was doing it, and there was nothing else he could do right now. Markus sighed resignedly as he realized that it was time to socialize.

 **AN:** This is mostly fluff. Next chapter will include initiation so that will be good. I am likely to use Ruby's perspective throughout this story to show how Markus is affecting team RWBY. The scene from her perspective this chapter shows the effects of Jaune's absence from the universe. While currently minimal, they will mount. Besides, the Courier has his own objectives here that no matter which team he was assigned to he intended to complete and his team might get dragged into those as well.


	17. Chapter 17 - Blind Jump

Chapter 17 - Blind Jump

"So, Pyrrha, have you given any thought to whose team you'd like to be on? I'm sure everyone must be eager to unite with such a strong, well-known individual such as yourself!" Weiss said sycophantically, ignorant of how transparent her attempt at flattery had been.

"Hmm… I'm not quite sure. I was planning on letting the chips fall where they may," Pyrrha responded noncommittally.

"Well… I was thinking maybe we could be on a team together."

"Well, that sounds grand!" said Pyrrha, ignorant of how awkward her diction sounded. Weiss, ignoring the other girl's eccentrism in favor of her own internal plotting, thought

" _This will be perfect! The smartest girl in class combined with the strongest girl in class! Together we will be unstoppable! I can see it now! We'll be popular! We'll be celebrities! We'll get perfect grades! Nothing can come between us now!_ "

Of course, with the universe's sense of dramatic irony, the heiress was rather politely interrupted during her scheming.

Initiating meaningless small talk was not something that Markus had much experience with. Typically, when he spoke to someone, he had a clearly defined purpose in doing so. In this instance, his only objective was to appear sociable. While he was capable of starting a conversation, without a specific topic preventing it from lapsing into an awkward silence would be the challenge.

"Pyrrha, Ms. Schnee," The Courier said nodding at them in turn.

"Markus! A pleasure to see you." Pyrrha said.

Markus noted that Pyrrha spoke very oddly. Not only were the words she used unusual but she had an unnatural cadence to her speech. He wondered why. Perhaps she had limited social experience? Her fame provided a plausible reason that she would not have had a normal childhood.

"You two know each other?" White asked.

"We had encountered each other previously," Pyrrha said.

"As have we," said the Courier, turning to address White,

"Although the circumstances were…less than formal."

After White displayed a somewhat puzzled expression Markus clarified,

"The incident involved an explosion."

The momentary confusion was immediately dispelled upon this revelation and replaced by a look of recognition.

The Courier found he could not overstate how much of an utter pain it was to maintain this persona. It actually hindered his ability to communicate properly. Hopefully once he had become more familiar with everyone he could plausibly tone down the awkward formality.

Meanwhile, White's recognition was immediately replaced with anger. Fortunately, her rage was not directed at him but towards Red, despite her not being present.

"That absolute dolt! She almost killed all of us!"

Both Pyrrha and Markus simultaneously took a step back from Weiss. Suffice to say, this was not what the Lone Wanderer intended, though he thought that her reaction was a result of her own problems rather than anything that he had done. Normal, well adjusted individuals (at least the few that Markus knew) did not have such violent outbursts over so petty an issue. In order to switch the subject to something less likely to result in a murder, Pyrrha turned to Markus and said,

"We were just discussing teams earlier."

While the Courier really had nothing to say, he decided to put the proverbial ball in Pyrrha's court and put the onus on her to keep the conversation going. Besides, he was likewise quite keen to change the subject.

"Have you found out anything more about the teams?"

"Yes. I have been recently informed that the teams will consist of four people each."

Unsure of what to say next, the trio lapsed into a somewhat awkward silence. Fortunately, this only lasted a few seconds before they were saved by the intercom.

"Would all first-year students please report to Beacon Cliff for initiation? Again, all first-year students report to Beacon Cliff immediately."

As Pyrrha and Weiss ambled towards the exit that presumably led to Beacon Cliff, Markus turned to retrieve his Anti-Materiel Rifle from where he had leaned it against the nearby lockers.

He had only walked a few steps towards it before he noticed Red basically ogling the weapon and Yellow vainly trying to pull the far smaller girl towards the exit. The Courier somewhat hesitantly picked up the Hécate II making eye contact with Red and raising an eyebrow.

"Is that yours?" Red asked, her voice a disconcerting mix of awe and reverence.

"Yes." he said with a tone of implied finality.

Naturally, this did not dent Red's exuberance.

"What is it?"

"Fifty caliber Anti-Materiel Rifle."

The Courier was no longer speaking as verbosely as he typically did at Beacon. Now he spoke almost laconically, keen to end this conversation before it started.

Red basically melted, drooling at the specifications for the weapon. The action was unsettling to Markus. No one should be that happy about an implement used exclusively to end lives. Weapons were tools used for a very dirty job. While it was true that many people became affectionate towards their own weapons, this was due to reliance on them for survival. It was an entirely natural response to grow an attachment to a piece of equipment that one's life depended on. The Courier however used too great a variety of weapons to grow attached to any one in particular.

Red's reaction stemmed from a different source. It was not affection towards to a piece of gear responsible for saving her life time and time again. No, this almost a philia for a weapon she had set eyes on mere moments early. This kind of attitude towards a tool for dealing death was something the Courier could only comprehend as sociopathic in nature. This was what happened when you made soldiers out of children.

Red pulled something from her belt. This "thing" unfolded into a seven-foot long scythe with a with a four-foot long blade.

"Mine's not as high caliber."

Upon closer examination the scythe appeared to have a rifle component and magazine. The weapon was far taller than the girl was and the longer even than the Hécate II.

"You plan on assassinating moon people with that barrel?" the Courier asked drily.

The barrel length seemed inconveniently excessive, to say nothing of the enormous scythe blade attached to the barrel. The Courier hadn't realized how Aura would impact the development of weapons in Remnant. Seeing a five-foot tall girl wielding a scythe significantly taller than she was with a blade almost as long as she was tall put things in perspective. Combat here would be entirely different from what he considered conventional. Weapons designed to be used in conjunction with Aura opened a whole world of possibilities.

Yellow interrupted the conversation,

"We really got to get to Beacon Cliff."

The Courier nodded in assent.

"What's your name anyway?" Yellow asked.

The Courier thought she seemed quite happy and more sociable than anyone else he had met. She seemed the most like he would imagine a person living in a place like this.

"Markus Friedrich, what are yours'?" said the Courier, addressing the pair.

Introductions. They were a good start to having a solid cover. Knowing people was always beneficial regardless.

Yellow responded once again,

"Yang Xiao Long, and that's my sister Ruby Rose."

"Pleasure to meet you two," the Courier said with his painful formality.

Slinging his rifle over his shoulder, he walked towards the exit followed by Ruby and Yang.

All of the first years were standing on platforms on the edge of Beacon Cliff, overlooking another damnable forest. Markus was the furthest on the right from his own perspective with Ruby on his left. The Headmaster and Professor Goodwitch were standing a little to the side of the students. The Headmaster began to speak,

"For years, you have trained to become warriors, and today, your abilities will be evaluated in the Emerald Forest."

The Professor now started to speak,

"Now, I'm sure many of you have heard rumors about the assignment of 'teams.' Well, allow us to put an end to your confusion. Each of you will be given teammates... today."

To his left, the Courier heard Ruby say,

"What? Ohhh…"

Evidently she didn't have as good sources as he did. Pyrrha's information had proven to be reliable.

The Headmaster resumed speaking,

"These teammates will be with you for the rest of your time here at Beacon. So it is in your best interest to be paired with someone with whom you can work well."

This was not good news to the Lone Wanderer. Spending a lot of time with others would make repairing the Transportalponder surreptitiously difficult at best and impossible at worst. Furthermore, any attempt at getting to know him intimately would but more stress on his falsified background than he was comfortable with it bearing. Ruby groaned to his left, echoing his feelings.

"That being said, the first person you make eye contact with after landing will be your partner for the next four years."

Markus found this to be an oddly specific and arbitrary determination for something so important. It was an entirely random method of pairing people that no professional organization would ever adopt. However, he shrugged it off. There was nothing he could do about it. He would most likely be paired with someone he had never met if based only on statistics. If his luck held out, he might get someone who would keep to themselves. Their combat ability was of secondary importance.

"After you've partnered up, make your way to the northern end of the forest. You will meet opposition along the way. Do not hesitate to destroy everything in your path... or you **will** die."

This seemed very dark compared to everything else he had seen in this otherwise civilized society. The idea of sending children to their deaths was not something even the Legion did lightly. For something as simple as an initiation into an academy (albeit a _combat_ academy) the stakes were very high. Though, the Courier was accustomed to high stakes.

"You will be monitored and graded through the duration of your initiation, but our instructors will not intervene. You will find an abandoned temple at the end of the path containing several relics. Each pair must choose one and return to the top of the cliff. You will guard that item, as well as your standing, and grade you appropriately. Are there any questions?"

No one spoke.

"Good! Now, take your positions."

Everyone struck a pose, with the Courier drawing Maria and the trench knife. The knife was held in a tactical reverse grip with the blade parallel to the gun's barrel and his left elbow at a 90 degree angle. The barrel was kept aimed slightly downward off the cliff with his finger resting on the nickel plated ivy of the trigger guard.

From down the line the platforms they are standing on send students flying one by one. While Markus did not have a plan for the fall, he knew that at this point it was out of his hands. Besides, his bones were reinforced enough that he was not even sure that they could be broken. And his newly unlocked Aura, weak as it was, should help. A bit.

Of course, nearly all of his confidence was lost upon being launched into the air and seeing nothing but a verdant canopy beneath him. It was time to improvise a "landing strategy."

 **AN:** Now, most of the members of team RWBY have been introduced. Slowly I am adding all of the mains. Sidenote: When is Ozpin's name mentioned? In both reading the transcripts and rewatching, he never introduced himself to the students of Beacon so Markus does not actually know his name.


	18. Chapter 18 - Presumed Overkill

Chapter 18 - Presumed Overkill

Improvising a landing strategy was far more easily said than done. Especially when you were forty feet above the treetops. The Courier's best bet would to be to slow himself as much as he could via contact with branches as he fell. It would hurt, but hopefully he wouldn't sustain enough damage that it would be suspicious for him to survive it. While Stimpacks meant that he was in little danger of death, coming back covered in his own blood would be inexplicable.

Markus supposed that the way that the way the headmaster intended the students to land was by using their Aura. He, however, had little confidence in his own. As he fell, he spread himself out in what one would consider to be the typical skydiving position in order to slow his velocity. Swiftly the blue edges of the Couriers vision became filled with the green of the forest below. 3...2...1... Impact.

As he passed the tip of the trees he shifted into an upright position and attempted to slow himself by stabbing the trench knife into the nearest tree, saw edge down. It half worked. After colliding with (and destroying) a few branches, the blade became dislodged from the trunk of the tree it had penetrated. The Lone Courier instantly stabbed the tree again, this time keeping his weapon firmly embedded in the unfortunate plant. By the time he had done this, the thick branches were above him and those below him only slowed him by a negligible amount.

A few meters above the ground he felt a sudden sharp pain in his shoulder-it must have dislocated. As soon as he registered what had happened, he pushed off from the tree and jumped to prevent further damage. Landing with a roll more graceful than anyone with a dislocated arm had any right to have and a grimace that was slightly more pained than usual, he straightened up and examined his Pip-Boy to inspect the damage he sustained.

Somewhat surprisingly, his legs were in very good condition. The cartilage between the joints was slightly damaged, but it was nothing that his implants couldn't handle. Minor injuries would fix themselves in a matter of minutes. Unfortunately, he had been correct in his assessment that his shoulder had been dislocated. This was something that had to be fixed manually. If he didn't relocate it, with his accelerated healing, it would heal badly.

Steeling himself, he pushed his shoulder back into its socket. It made a simultaneously disgusting and satisfying pop as it went back in. Fortunately, the Courier had developed a ridiculously high pain tolerance as a side effect of having been unfortunate enough to have been shot, stabbed, burned, had every limb crippled, irradiated, and electrocuted multiple times. He therefore didn't expect the arm to impair his ability to function.

Markus examined himself, checking for any other damage. Benny's suit was still in pristine condition. The thing was bullet resistant after all. The trench knife looked no worse for wear. He wasn't sure what had went into making it, but it was in contention for the most durable thing he owned.

He raised his weapons into the position they had been prior to his launch, and examined his surroundings. There was nothing particularly remarkable about the Emerald Forest that he could see. It looked the same as the one he had arrived in initially. Still, even after having previously spent several days in a forest, the Courier found it to be a somewhat novel experience. The wet earth and dewy plants were something that he was not accustomed to. The Mojave wasn't like this, even before The War, and DC was far too irradiated for anything this green and healthy to grow anywhere except Oasis. However now was not the time for sightseeing. He had a mission.

Speaking of his mission, the instructions were not very clear on where to find these "relics" that they were supposed to retrieve. Therefore, the Lone Courier took his best guess, and determined that the most logical place would be in the direction that they had been launched. He set off, deeper into the forest, at a half crouch. He might have taken a chance and thrown caution to the winds by sprinting towards his objective, but decided it was better to allow his joints to recover. Extensive stress would mean the healing might take hours or even lead to permanent damage. The technology was experimental even pre-war and the Courier knew it was risky to use. However with how often he was injured, he had determined it was worth the risk. That said, there was no reason to make it any more dangerous than it already was.

Markus flicked off the safety on Maria but kept his finger off the trigger; there were friendlies around after. A 9mm was not the best introduction. Despite anticipating meeting one of the other students, he was very much aware that Grimm had a significant presence here, and was therefore constantly scanning for movement.

The Courier's biggest worry was that the 9mm dust rounds he was using would lacked the stopping power needed to deal with anything he might encounter. Frontal headshots were a risky option. The bone plate could prevent the round from penetrating the skull. While he could attempt to hit parts that weren't covered by the supernaturally tough carapace, it was by no means a sure thing.

Enraged animals were notoriously hard to kill, a fact that was known even in the Old World with the creation of so called "elephant guns". Most of the larger calibers were designed for defence against animals such as bears, elephants, and rhinos. Should 9mm not be sufficient to deal with the Grimm he would encounter, he could surreptitiously switch to the Blackhawk by using some slight of hand to disguise the matter digitalization. That would only be necessary if Maria proved to be totally ineffective against the vast majority of targets he encountered. His first resort would be to use the Hécate II if he came up against smaller numbers of harder targets.

The .50 caliber round was intended to be an anti-aircraft round upon its inception. It was used extensively by tanks as a coaxial armament pre-war and was even the main armament on some tanks during the early phases of the Second World War. Based on the creatures he had previously encountered, the Courier felt certain that his choice in secondary weapon was overkill. Markus had previously handloaded some empty .50 caliber cases with dust. According to the calculations he had done, Dust, when used in the place of an equivalent amount of smokeless powder, produced less thrust, but sort of detonated on impact like a more extreme version of the effect of hollow point ammunition.

A significant facet of this difference was that all Dust based ammunition was subsonic. While this was fine in more covert operations, with an Anti-Materiel Rifle, it was all about stopping power. Still, the Lone Wanderer was keen to see how the custom ammunition performed. The cartridges had not been designed with Dust in mind.

He had been walking for a while now and yet he had yet to see any opposition. As the Courier walked, he unconsciously avoided stepping on sticks or dry leaves. His presence was totally silent. His knees no longer felt as though the patellas were being grinded on by both his femurs and his tibias. That was a good sign as it meant that the damage to his cartilage had likely been regenerated enough for him to move at a faster pace. The Courier was keen to do so as so far he had neither met opposition nor made any visual progress; his surroundings looked much the same as they did where he had landed. Therefore, he forwent stealth in favor of speed, flicked Maria's safety back on, and set off at a steady jog.

Despite his increased speed he made very little noise. He habitually avoided stepping on things that would give away his presence. For a few minutes, everything was totally peaceful. His Pip-Boy detected no contacts. He was just wondering when he would meet the "opposition" the Headmaster had spoken of when a hostile contact appeared. It was far ahead of him, still concealed by the dense trees. Despite the fact that his weapons were unsuppressed, the Courier began to move stealthily towards the blip.

As the contact was singular, he hoped to eliminate it without drawing attention to his location. His lack of automatic weapons meant that he was in a less than ideal situation for dealing with large groups of hostiles. If constrained to his current set of weapons, being swarmed was a real danger.

The Courier took cover behind one of the trees and peered past it towards where the contact was supposed to be. There it was. A solitary Beowolf. Eliminating it would be easy. Unfortunately, it was sniffing the air, apparently aware of his presence. That ruled out using the trench knife; he would never get close enough to something that had his scent. As neither of his weapons were suppressed, he would need to go loud.

Two painfully loud cracks later, and two 9mm rounds were hurtling towards the unfortunate creature at just subsonic speeds. As the Beowolf had not pinpointed his location, it was not currently facing him. That meant that both rounds were heading directly towards the back of the beast's head.

The impact was visually unimpressive, with only small spurts of crimson fluid spilling from the Grimm. A split second later however, and the Dust rounds exited the Beowolf in countless fragments, each followed by a thin stream of hot blood. The creature fell to the ground, making a sickening gurgling growl, its skull holding nothing but shrapnel shredded mush. Within a few seconds, the body had dissolved in its typical fashion, leaving no trace behind.

Markus was not overly pleased with how that encounter had gone. The Dust rounds had proven to be far louder than he would have liked. Without a suppressor, the sound of the propellant igniting echoed seemingly for miles even without the sonic boom that accompanied conventional ammunition.

He held his breath, waiting to see whether his presence had been detected.

Waiting.

Nothing.

Then, a contact.

One, directly in front of him, then another, then another. The Courier began to run forward at a 45 degree angle to the contacts. Soon, they were too numerous to count. Markus changed magazines and racked the slide. This was going to get messy.

 **AN:** Lots of exposition, not a lot of action. next chapter a whole lot combat should be occurring. I'll admit, this chapter took far more words than I had anticipated that it would.


	19. Chapter 19 - Dead Stars

Chapter 19 - Dead Stars

Markus caught his first glimpse of one of his pursuers between the tree trunks. Its low profile and four legged gait distinguished it as an Ursa. Strange, he thought it was Beowolves that typically moved in packs. With his limited arsenal, dealing with this many hostiles would be a challenge. Typically, an automatic weapon would make short work of a crowd of animals. His lack of one such weapon meant that he would have to get creative.

The Courier was sprinting now, he hoped to find a clearing before he was forced to fight the group. There he could better engage the Grimm that pursued him. His tactics against a large amount of unskilled opponents would require room enough to maneuver to avoid being surrounded.

An Ursa burst from the foliage on his right only to be met with two 9mm to the head. At near point blank range its cranium shattered gorily as it slumped to the ground, sublimating quickly. He never stopped moving. The trees started the thin, and he felt optimistic of his chances of engaging on more favorable ground.

The break from the treeline was sudden and unexpected. Despite the thinning of the forest, at no point previously had he been able to see past the wall of trees. The area in front of him was clear for about a hundred meters before a sheer cliff towered up in his path. There was a small rise at its base that led to cave, too deep in shadow for him to see the interior of. Fighting with his back to the cliff would limit his options of retreat but the area in front of it ensured he would have the space he needed.

Analyzing the terrain, Markus determined that he should put as much distance and as many obstacles between him and his pursuers as he could in order to allow him to take down more before they reached him. He sprinted towards the rise. The height advantage would be useful.

The Lone Wanderer had gotten thirty meters from the treeline before the first Ursa became visible over his shoulder. This one was far larger than the other one had been and judging by the thickness of its bone mask, headshots were not an option. Attempting to hit a moving target as small as the unarmored portion of the creature's head was more than likely a waste of ammunition.

Only half turning, the Courier sent four rounds at its abdomen. The Courier did not look to see their effect. From the noises her heard, they had thoroughly disemboweled the creature.

The Courier checked over his shoulder once again to see more Ursi break from the treeline, the contacts still innumerable. Markus turned back blind fired behind him, aiming low, hoping to slow the creatures. Once again not turning to check the effect the fire was having, he continued towards high ground. Forty meters later, he turned to assess the pack he was facing.

There were six Ursa majors and about twenty minors visible, the lead of which was a mere twenty meters away. Two cracks echoed above the growling of the Grimm. Nineteen. He needed to do his thinking and shooting at the same time.

The Lone Wanderer made the decision to prioritize the larger ones. They would be a far greater threat in close combat than the small ones were. In his experience, the bigger something was, the less knife wounds bother it. Trying to deal with an Ursa major with a seven inch blade was not an appealing prospect.

The majority of the group was now sixty meters from him and closing slower than he had expected. The Lone Courier proceeded to simply put as much lead and Dust their way as he could as fast as he could. The need to reload occasionally barely slowed his rate of fire.

Markus was not happy with his progress. Five of the Ursa majors remained standing at thirty meters. Ursi, both major and minor took a frustrating amount of punishment to put down. While he had focused on targeting the neck and center of mass in an effort to induce fatal wounds, he now found himself often aiming for the legs, settling for immobilizing the creatures.

Too many major were involved for his liking. He hadn't been able to focus his fire on them as much as he would have liked due to the need to pick off minors who were ahead of the pack. Once one of the Ursi closed to melee range it would become purely a melee affair. Fighting both a close range and long range battle simultaneously was something that was beyond his skillset.

Now that there were only a dozen minors left he decided to take out the majors at all costs. If he could kill them before the minor came into melee range he was confident with his odds. In order achieve this objective he holstered Maria and the trench knife, knelt, and unslung the Hécate II in a single, smooth motion.

Thirty meters was extremely close range for ten times magnification. At this distance, the Courier could literally put a bullet through the eye of the Ursa majors. So he did. Five rounds through five Grimm in as many seconds. The lead Ursa minor was now only ten meters away, not enough time to reload and take out the last major. He therefore reslung his Anti-Materiel Rifle and drew Maria and his trench knife.

While the lead Ursa never got close to him, the one following him would have to be dealt with at point blank range. The second Ursa leapt at him. The Courier side stepped to the right, impaling it on his trench knife while gouging its throat in mid air. The creature was not dead upon landing and made a pitiful gurgling noise as it drowned in its own blood. Still, it was combat ineffective. Ten left.

The nearest Grimm received a 9mm through the chest though this served only to stagger it. The trench knife, still in a reverse grip, through the top of the skull mortally wounded the Ursa. Despite its fate being sealed, it lashed out in its death throes, forcing the Courier to dodge backwards, bring the knife with him thereby tearing a gaping hole in the Grimm's skull, the blade only sliding out as it scraped over the back of the faceplate. Nine.

Much to his advantage, in his maneuvering, Markus had created some distance between his opponents and himself. He exploited this instantly before attempting to empty his magazine into the swarm. Two minors went down. Seven left. He easily dodged the swipes of the nearest and blinded one eye with a stab before firing point blank into its skull. This left him open to an attack by the other that had reached him forcing him back yet again. Still the major had not yet closed to melee range. Fortunately, its size also meant reduced speed. Realizing that a delay to reload would be risky, the Courier opted for the simpler option smashing the Ursa in the face with the knuckle Dusters on the trench knife. The small spikes punctured the creature's face and sent it reeling in pain as the force behind the blow cracked its skull.

This provided him with the opportunity to slap another magazine into Maria and fire two rounds into the chest of the Grimm he had struck. Five. The Courier virtually ran rings around the remaining minors, peppering the creatures while almost effortlessly evading their strikes, staying just out of range. When there were two left, the Ursa major finally closed to melee range.

As the Lone Wanderer prepared to finish the fight, he perceived four more Ursa majors and six more minors appear from the treeline on his left. This, was a problem. He had no way of dealing with that many majors Suddenly, he had an idea. He finished off one of the minors of the original group and stabbed the other as it tried to cut him off from retreating from the solitary major.

After a reload he once again fired into the crowd of Ursi hoping to thin the number of minors. Within a few seconds, the Courier had reached the relative safety of the cave. While the majors could not fit through its narrow entrance he would have little room to avoid attacks if minors closed to melee range. With what he was wearing, he could not afford to take hits. He therefore methodically eliminated them with precise 9mm rounds. There was enough distance between him and them for the Courier to take the time to place lethal shots on the targets.

With only the majors left at fifty meters away, he switched to the Anti-Materiel Rifle and reloaded before tearing massive holes in each of the remaining Ursa majors. The deafening boom of the .50 cal echoed through the otherwise quiet forest as death groans of the Grimm subsided.

With no more contacts the Courier reassessed his plan. Proceeding in his original direction was now impossible. The sheer cliff impeded any progress. His best option was to continue deeper into the cave and hope that this was where the relics that he was supposed to retrieve were or that the place had another exit.

This could take an impractical amount of time but there was no alternative. With only his enhanced vision to guide him, the Courier crept forward into the darkness of the cave. There appeared to be cave paintings along the walls. Markus wondered whether they were actually ancient or the result of more recent tribes like those of Zion. His thoughts were interrupted by a sound behind him. He instantly turned 180 degrees and acquired his target. What he saw made his exhale resignedly.

 **AN:** Here's some more combat. I would like to know your opinions on how the battle is written and your ability to understand/picture it. This scene shows the limitations that are imposed on the Lone Courier due to the clandestine nature of his mission. He can't simply summon a minigun any time he gets in trouble.


	20. Chapter 20 - Friendly Pursuer

Chapter 20 - Friendly Pursuer

Pyrrha had not been entirely telling the truth when she had said she had not put much thought into teams. In fact, she had probably put more thought into it than most others had. Despite this, Pyrrha was not worried about who she might end with. She knew that her own skill would mean that it would be largely irrelevant to her combat performance who she ended up with. She had past the point of being concerned about who she might end up with and was resigned to the fact that she would have to spend four years partnered by someone who was utterly starstruck by her and placed her on what amounted to an altar.

Of course, in this scenario, the very idea of social interaction that would be considered normal for the average person would entirely out of the question. This pessimistic inevitability changed however upon her chance encounter with Markus. Importantly, he had not known who she was. This meant that they had been capable of maintaining a "normal" (if fairly awkward) conversation. Regardless, Pyrrha considered it a major victory. As a result, it had quickly become her top priority to become paired with him.

This was not due to an attraction, or personality. Far from it. In fact, Pyrrha found him to be formal and somewhat cold. She viewed this simply as an opportunity to avoid being stuck with someone who could not view her as a human. An opportunity that would be pursued at all costs. She would not miss the chance to have something she had never had before. Pyrrha had no idea what she was getting herself into.

From the initial launch, Pyrrha had kept her eyes glued to her quarry. She tried to angle herself towards where she anticipated his trajectory to land him. Since she had launched first, she attempted to slow herself down as much as she could to allow him to get ahead of her. Using her shield, Akoúo̱, to slow herself using air resistance she landed on the bough of a particularly tall tree and deftly rolled to a halt. If she was to have any hope of finding him Markus would have to be in her path to the relics. Drawing Miló, and gazing down its scope, she tracked Markus' flight. Evidently she had not needed to slow herself as he had been launched far further than she had. Damn. She would have to move quickly if she didn't want to be saddled with a fanboy/girl for four years. Losing this opportunity was something Pyrrha was not willing to allow. And if there was one word that was the antithesis of Pyrrha Nikos, it was losing.

At the pace Pyrrha was moving, she felt that she wouldn't detect any Grimm before she ran into them, which was not something she intended to make a habit of. Running into something once was embarrassing enough. The trees were virtually a blur as she ran by, all of her senses alert for any sign of Markus. Branches that would have cut the face of a normal person whipped by as they were deflected by her aura.

She knew that this would be a difficult thing to accomplish. Not only did she need to find him and catch up to him, she also needed to do it before he made eye contact with anyone else. Or anyone else made eye contact with her.

After having ran for roughly ten minutes in the direction of where she had seen Markus land, Pyrrha found what she presumed to be his landing zone. A particularly tall tree had two massive vertical rents in it, each at different heights. Most of the branches on one side of the tree were snapped off. Not the most elegant landing. Despite this apparently crude landing strategy, there were no visible tracks that indicated which way her quarry had gone. The surrounding foliage appeared utterly untouched.

While pondering her next move, Pyrrha very distinctly heard the sound of gunfire. She was familiar enough with firearms to tell that it was of a caliber that might be used by Markus' pistol. While it was by no means a sure thing, it was still a far better lead than she had had before. Which had been absolutely nothing. Besides, as far as she knew, there was no one else who had landed near here. At least she had that in her favor.

Sure enough, after a few minutes of pursuing the sounds of combat, Pyrrha found what was clearly the result of someone moving at what (from her perspective) was a sprint. The size of the tracks indicated that they were made by someone of Markus' stature. With increased vigor that came with her renewed faith that she was going in the right direction, she now started sprinting. The shots were louder but still in the distance.

Five booms echoed exponentially louder than those that preceded and succeeded them. _Probably the massive rifle that he was carrying,_ she deduced. There was a sudden pause in the firing before it resumed with increased speed. Then, there was another pause and, Pyrrha being much closer now, heard the nearly deafening boom and corresponding echo of the enormous rifle firing another five successive shots.

Ninety seconds later, she entered a clearing, just in time to see the last of the Ursai evaporate. _So that was what Markus was fighting_. The main thing of note that Pyrrha saw in the clearing was a cave at the base of the cliff directly opposite her. She decided that that was her best bet for locating Markus. He appear to be going the same direction the entire time and the cave was in the same path. Since she saw no other disturbances to the foliage other than those made by the Grimm, the cave was her best option. Despite the fact she had been previously unable to track Markus for a while, her intuition led her to believe that Assuming that there was only one exit Pyrrha walked rather than ran towards the opening in the cliff face. There was no reason to exert more energy than necessary. She did not know how long this initiation would take and did not want to become fatigued before it had even properly begun.

The cave was dark. As she had no means other than the residual glow of her active aura of generating light Pyrrha could only see a few feet in front of her at most. This was not helped by the winding passages of the cave. The last thing she needed was to be lost in here. Then, her exploration came to an abrupt halt when she heard a very distinctive sound.

Having heard movement behind him, the Lone Courier disengaged the safety and spun around. He exhaled softly as his sights came to rest on the smiling face of Pyrrha Nikos, less than two feet away. Markus pointed the gun at the floor literally quicker than was humanly possible, even with the assistance of Aura. It was extraordinarily bad manners (and unsafe) to point a gun at someone.

Both Pyrrha and Markus looked at each other awkwardly for a few seconds, neither sure exactly where to go from here.

"I suppose that we are partners now," Pyrrha said in her usual jovial tone.

"Yes," said the Courier unemotionally..

"Odds that the relics are in this cave?" he asked laconically.

"It seems unlikely, however I do not have any idea of where to look," Pyrrha responded.

"We might as well check, this can't go on forever."

Just before Markus turned to continue their search of the caves for their objective, Pyrrha wordlessly pointed to something over his shoulder. Understanding that she likely had a good reason to be silent, he slowly turned his head. With his enhanced vision, the Lone Wanderer saw what he could only describe as a Grimm, organic version of Dr. Mobius' giant robo-scorpion. If this one was anywhere near as durable, he was in for tough fight. Markus held up three fingers. Two. One. They both sprinted through the cave, as they moved, so did the Deathstalker, keeping hot on their heels. Markus was careful not to outpace Pyrrha. He did not know what maximum "normal" speed for these people. Appearing obviously superhuman would certainly cause questions. He was mindful of keeping up appearances even when being chased by a Grimm large enough to kill him in a single blow.

Hoping to end this before it began, Markus reached into his suit's jacket where he materialized a stick of lit dynamite. He threw this behind him just before they cleared the cave. By this point, they had managed create some distance between them and the titanic Grimm. A few seconds later, the dynamite detonated, shocking Pyrrha, who had not seen the explosive thrown and sealing the cave. Everything had worked perfectly. Until the Deathstalker burst through the rubble, that was.

 **AN:** Opinions on my characterization of Pyrrha and use of alternate perspective in general would be welcome.


	21. Chapter 21 - A Most Cunning Plan

Chapter 21 - A Most Cunning Plan

The Lone Courier's reaction to the Deathstalker crashing through the debris would have been easily predictable to those few who knew him well. In fact, even those who knew only of his reputation would have had good odds of predicting his response. The Courier unslung the Hécate II and fired a singular round at the abdomen of the creature. Of course, he did not expect this to stop the gigantic Grimm, rather the attack was intended to gauge the effectiveness of his weapons. The Dust based round made a soft ping as it impacted the carapace of the Deathstalker. For a split second the Courier wondered whether it had even penetrated. However, any doubt was erased upon the pained screech that oversized scorpion had made. Despite the seemingly significant effect that the bullet had produced, once the smoke from the Dust round's detonation had cleared, the wound, despite the reaction of the recipient, was almost imperceptible. The bloody hole was only the size of the round. Painful, but nowhere near lethal. Maria probably wouldn't even pierce the carapace. As he and Pyrrha continued to flee from the terrifyingly large scorpion, Markus idly concluded that the Grimm's carapace would act similarly to sloped armor on tanks. Its curved nature would mean that smaller caliber bullets would bounce. All in all, to him, this meant that he would need to get creative.

As far as he could tell, they were not going in any particular direction and he was unwilling to abandon Pyrrha to being eaten by an oversized scorpion so he simply followed her. As there had not been any significant change in scenery, and the Deathstalker was gaining, Markus worried that he would need to resort to more reckless measures. Just as he was contemplating how long Pyrrha could survive without his intervention he noticed that the trees were thinning. Therefore he bided his time knowing that change was imminent that could provide him with new options. At this point however, both the Courier and Pyrrha were dodging the swipes of the pincers. He needed to put some distance between them and the Grimm. The Anti-Materiel Rifle was out of the question, unslinging it would take too long, so he turned only his torso and without stopping fired three 9mm rounds into one of the Deathstalker's eyes. Another squeal pierced the air as the Grimm reeled in agony at having one of its eyes blinded. The Courier turned back and saw the contents of the clearing.

This clearing appeared to contain most of the other students. Only White seemed to be missing out of all those he had so far identified. Behind where all the kids stood, there was a dilapidated ruin. While clearly ravaged by time and nature its walls and columns still remained upright in some sections. Markus' enhanced eyes spotted chess pieces of various colors on pedestals. He presumed this was the mentioned temple and artifacts they had been searching for. They were lucky to have found it by running in a totally random direction.

And then White appeared. She seemed to have fallen from the sky, using some form of Dust based witchcraft to break her fall. But then, if she had fallen from the sky, what had she fallen from?

Markus and Pyrrha had managed to get nearly a dozen meters between them and the Deathstalker before the pair reached the group.

"Great," Yang said with almost uncharacteristic mix of pessimism and sarcasm, "the gang's all here. Now we can die together."

 _Not likely,_ the Courier thought. Even the worst case scenarios in his ended with no one dead. A giant scorpion wasn't _that_ much of a threat. Before he could voice any objection to the fatalistic view, Ruby spoke.

"Not if I can help it."

And with a battle cry that was exactly as one would expect from a fifteen year old girl, she charged at the Deathstalker so fast that she appeared to have a motion blur.

"Ruby, wait!," her sister yelled. Ruby of course, ignored this. The Lone Courier was interested in seeing how combat effective these kids were. Just from his impressions of their outfits and weapons he did not have high hopes. Both reeked of the opulence of a long peace. Practicality and efficiency were both sacrificed in favor of aesthetics. Still, Aura gave them an undeniable advantage. Such as being able to move at speeds which caused them to blur slightly.

The impact with the scorpion caused Ruby to merely bounce off rather pathetically. While Markus considered helping, no one else felt the need to, and Ruby appeared fine.

"D-Don't worry! Totally fine."

She yelled back to them, turning to face the Grimm. She fired a round from her weapon directly into the faceplate of the Deathstalker. Of course, it ricocheted, causing no damage. She started to run. Yang started to run towards her. As far as the Courier could see getting closer to the Grimm would not help in the least. His contemplation was interrupted by an earsplitting caw. He looked up and saw where he assumed White had come from. The mother of all Nevermores had arrived. This one was roughly twice the size of the one that had disturbed him previously, and this time he couldn't use his Gauss rifle. Unfortunately.

The titanic bird cawed before flapping its wings several times sending loose feathers nearly as tall as the Courier down in dozens. One appeared to have pinned Ruby's cape while the others had blocked Yang from reaching her.

 _Really_ , thought the Lone Wanderer, _A cape_. _Who did she think she was? A superhero?_

It quick glance revealed that none of them wore armor except Pyrrha, and hers was almost entirely decorative. Some of them wore heels. _Heels!_ It was almost humorous how unseriously they approached matters of life and death. Aura must be more potent than he realized if these kids could afford going into combat with nothing other than it for protection.

Just as the Deathstalker tried to stab the red themed girl, White used an arcane glyph to propel herself into range of assistance and then another to erect a wall of ice. And she appeared to be lecturing the girl. While there was no doubt Ruby deserved it for her utter thoughtlessness in her attire, White was not exactly one to talk in that regard.

At least she appeared to be marginally competent, unlike Ruby who had so far only managed to nearly get herself killed. Even if it was through the use of sorcery.

They appeared to be conversing, while neither of the threats were eliminated; the Nevermore circling and the Deathstalker thawing.

Of course then Yang hugged her sister. The Courier ignored all of this with a resigned air. Not a stone's throw from them was a giant scorpion and they were having a moment of sororal bonding.

They had all gathered once again, the Deathstalker seemingly contained. For now.

"Nevermore is circling back. Ideas?" Markus asked.

He could not make any plans as he was ignorant of the capabilities of others present. Without knowledge of the resources available to them, he could not formulate a method to eliminate the Grimm.

"Our objective is right in front of us, no sense in dilly-dallying." White said.

The Courier had to resist the urge to roll his eyes. Chess pieces would not kill the bird or the scorpion. And he knew they would need to die sooner or later. Preferably sooner.

"She's right," Ruby said, "our mission is to grab an artifact and make it back to the cliffs. There's no point in fighting these things."

Markus had to resist rolling his eyes again. A giant killer bird that could fly faster than they could run was not just going to leave them alone. They were going to have to deal with it one way or another.

Regardless, it wasn't his life that they were risking. No matter what happened, none of the worst case scenarios ended up with him dead. On their own heads be it.

Markus grabbed the nearest chess piece, a golden rook, as Ruby grabbed the one next to him, a golden knight. He was eager to get out of here. Working with amateurs annoyed him. It was clear these kids had no real idea of what they were doing and were just making it up as they went along.

The ice holding the Deathstalker's pincer started to crack as it began to struggle more vigorously.

"It's time we left," said the quiet, green wearing guy.

The Lone Courier sighed mentally (he had been doing that a lot lately) and resigned himself to this "plan." If they were going to do it, they would have to do it quickly. Good tactical sense would dictate that they all focus their fire on the giant scorpion while it was still trapped and kill it while it was incapable of defending itself. It was too late for that now in any case. Perhaps the ice might give them enough of a head start to lose the Deathstalker. He doubted it.

 **AN:** The Lone Courier, as a man of science, is mildly annoyed by Dust and semblances, thinking of them as basically magic and not liking anything he doesn't understand.

There is no real way that I could write the characters as essentially professional elite soldiers when they wear heels. Instead, I will be writing this story under the concept that this period of peace has led to aesthetics over practicality. With weapons designed to fight Grimm, not wars. The mains are the equivalent of the "summer knights" from A Song of Ice and Fire; born in a time of peace and plenty, know nothing of war and hardship. And, even in canon, RWBY's (metaphorical) Winter is Coming.


	22. Chapter 22 - Prologue and Stats

**AN:** This is not a proper chapter, rather a small scene which is not much more than a retelling of canon and a repository for the Lone Courier's stats and items. This should make chapter 1 less cluttered.

 _Si Vis Pacem_

Prologue

 _In the near future at Beacon_

A large and ominous airship descended upon a landing pad. Two Bullheads flew over the main causeway as ant-like masses of people swarmed on the paths around Beacon. At the peak of the highest tower, veiled in clouds, clockwork mechanisms functioned ceaselessly over the headmaster's office. Professor Ozpin and Glynda Goodwitch stood facing out the window of his office, watching the orchestrations.

"Ironwood certainly loves bringing his work wherever he travels," Goodwitch said.

"Well, running an academy and a military makes him a busy man," the headmaster said as he overlooked three more Bullheads flew in,

"But yes, those are a bit of an eyesore."

A chirping sound emanated from his desk.

"Come in," the Headmaster said.

The doors to his office opened, revealing General Ironwood.

"Ozpin!," said Ironwood cordially.

Ozpin stood at attention.

"Hello, General," he said rather stiffly.

"Please, drop the formalities."

The two men approached and shook hands as Goodwitch also approached.

"It's been too long," said Ironwood, "And Glynda! It has certainly been too long since we last met."

The severe professor responded almost mockingly, "Oh, James" She gave a personable wave and then dropped all pleasantries.

"I'll be outside."

"Well, she hasn't changed a bit," said Ironwood, not entirely surprised by how the conversation went.

Ozpin turned to his desk and said,

"So, what in the world has brought you all the way down from Atlas?"

The Headmaster of Beacon picked up a kettle and cup, pouring as he spoke.

"Headmasters don't typically travel with their students, for the Vytal Festival."

He turned and offered the cup to Ironwood.

The mug changed hands making a clink as it did so.

"Well, you know how much I love Vale this time of year," Ironwood said as he produced a canteen from his inside coat pocket and poured its contents into his mug.

"Besides, with you hosting, I thought that this might be a good opportunity for us to catch up."

Ozpin walked around to his desk, kettle and a new mug.

"I can certainly appreciate the quality time between friends, however, a small fleet outside my window has me concerned."

"Well, concerned is what brought them here." The General said.

"I understand that travel between kingdoms has become increasingly difficult," said Ozpin, feigning ignorance.

"Oz, you and I both know why I brought those men," said Ironwood frankly.

Ozpin took a drink and set down his mug.

"We are in a time of peace, he said, "Shows of power like this are just going to give off the wrong impression."

"But if what Qrow said is true..." said Ironwood.

"If what Qrow said is true," Ozpin said, interrupting the other man, "then we will handle it tactfully. It's the Vytal Festival. A time to celebrate unity and peace. So I suggest that you not scare people by transporting hundreds of soldiers halfway across the continent."

"I'm just being cautious," justified Ironwood.

"As am I. Which is why we will continue to train the best Huntsmen and Huntresses we can."

"Believe me, I am." Ironwood said as he turned to walk away. He stopped near the door and turned back to Ozpin.

"Do you honestly think your children can win a war?"

Ozpin looked tired, very tired.

"I hope they never have to." Little did he know, one already had. Twice.

Here is a list of both stats and items that the character possesses. This can easily be ignored if it's too boring for you. Its main purpose is for the reader's reference.

Character Stats:

Gender: Male

Name: Markus Friedrich

Race: Caucasian

Aliali: The Lone Wanderer, Mr. 101, "that kid from vault 101", the Courier, Apollyon

SPECIAL Stats:

Strength:10(+)

Perception: 10

Endurance: 10

Charisma: 10

Intelligence: 10

Agility: 10

Luck: 9

Skills:

Barter:80

Energy Weapons:90

Explosives:100

Guns:100

Lockpick:100

Medicine:100

Melee Weapons:100(+)

Lockpick: 100

Medicine:100

Melee:100

Repair:100

Science:100

Sneak:100

Speech:100

Survival:92

Unarmed:90

Perks:

Abominable(3) Damage bonus vs abominations

Adamantium Skeleton Limbs receive 50% of normal damage

Alertness +2 Perception when crouched

Almost Perfect

And Stay Back Chance to knock enemies with shotguns

Animal Control(3) Damage bonus against animals

Ant Sight 25% fire resistance and +1 perception

AR Scanner Project Nevada eye implant

Barkskin +5% damage resistance

Big Brained head cannot be crippled 10% more resistant to damage and addiction

Booster Shot 10% radiation resistance

Center of Mass +15% more damage in VATS when targeting the torso

Child at Heart

Commando better accuracy using a rifle

Cyborg +10% radiation and poison resistance +5 DT and Energy weapons

Demolition Expert

EMP Generator fires EMP pulses from hands recharges at a rate of 1 per hour with a maximum of 5

Explorer

Finesse

Gray Matters take 25% less damage to the head

Grim Reaper's sprint.

Grunt damage bonus with military grade weaponry

Gun Nut

Hand Loader

Heartless cannot be poisoned robots cannot target well

Heavyweight

Hit the Deck +25 DT vs explosives

Implant M-5 40% faster

Iron Fist +5 unarmed damage

Jury Rigging

Kinetic Accelerator faster reload and general arm movement

Knife in the Shadow attacks from stealth with a 1 handed weapons are lethal

Lady Killer

Lessons Learned

Lord Death(3)

Melee Hacker(2) hack faster

Miss Fortune

Monocyte Breeder regenerates

Mysterious Stranger

Nanobionic Weave right leg regenerates

Nerves of Steel

Ninja

Pitt Fighter +3% damage and radiation resistance

Poker Face

Power Armor Training

Professional Courier

Quick Draw

Rad Regeneration radiation causes regeneration

Ranger Takedown

Rapid Reload

Razor Nails

Reflex Booster

Reinforced Spine +2 strength and damage resistance

Run 'n Gun

Scribe Counter

Scrounger find more ammunition

Set Lasers for Fun more laser damage

Sharpshooter aim is increased the further a target is

Silent Running

Silver Tongue

Sniper better chance at headshot

Solar Powered gain health and strength in sunlight

Special Ops. acquired controls to an automated missile silo(not currently usable)

Stonewall +5 DT against melee attacks and cannot be knocked down

Strong Back

Sub-Dermal Armor +4 DT

Superior Defender +5 damage and +10 armor while standing still

Survival Expert

Swift Learner

Swing for the Fence

Synthetic Lungs longer sprinting and water breathing

Tag!

Terrifying Presence terrify a mob of enemies

Them's Good Eatin' Any living creature has a 50% chance of dropping thin red paste or blood Sausage

Thought You Died +100 health

Tough Guy stronger bones

Toughness +3 DT

Trigger Discipline fires 20% slower but 20% more accurately

Warmonger can build custom weapons

Wild Wasteland

1071 People killed

Exhaustive List of Equipment:

Weapons:

.50 Desert Eagle

25mm Grenade APW AA(All attachments)

A Light Shining in Darkness AA

Adaptive Combat Rifle (ACR) Urban camo 10.5" Carbine ACOG silenced

Anti-Materiel Rifle custom bolt and silencer

AA-12 assault shotgun

Ballistic Fist Hydra config

Big Mountain Transportalponder!

Blackhawk unscoped

C-4 Plastic explosive(6)

Christine's COS Silencer Rifle

Codac R9000

Cryo Grenade (2)

Detonator

Dress Cane concealed blade

Dynamite(30)

Elijah's Advanced LAER AA

Esther

Fire Bomb(3)

Flare Gun

Flash Bang (14)

Frag Grenade (14)

Frag Mine(16)

Heckler & Koch CAWS

Heckler & Koch USP Suppressed extended mag, compensator

Heckler & Koch MP5A4 silenced

Incendiary Grenade(14)

Jingwei's Shocksword

Laser Detonator

Long Fuse Dynamite

M14 scoped,silenced, synthetic parts

Maria

Mercy

Molotov Cocktail

Old Glory

Plasma Grenade(12)

Plasma Mine(7)

Pulse Mine(8)

Red Glare Far Sighting

Remote Pipebomb

SWAT Flashbang (22)

Satchel Charge, Remote(18)

Shock Baton

Sprtel-Wood 9700

Trench Knife

YCS/186

ZM LE-300 acog, silencer, quadstacked magazine

Apparel

Balaclava

Benny's Suit

Combat Backpack

Courier Duster

Dragon Combat Helmet

Dragonskin Tactical Outfit

Elite Riot Gear

Elite Riot Gear Helmet

Night Vision Goggles

Rebreather

SWAT Gear (bandolier)

SWAT Gloves

SWAT Neck Wrap

Stealth Suit Mk III

Sunglasses

Winterized T-51b Power Armor

Winterized T-51b Power Armor Helmet


	23. Chapter 23 - The Burning Limelight

**AN:** As there's a lot we haven't been told about RWBY, and a lot of it is left up for interpretation, I thought it prudent to list some assumptions I'm running this story off of:

The RWBY universe is clearly not trying to exterminate the Grimm if they are only as much of a threat as we have seen. From what we have seen, the US military could genocide the Grimm without too much trouble. And they don't have Aura.

Other things such as the lack of artillery, tanks, or air superiority fighters indicates that there has not been a modern war.

Usage of mechs indicates that they have the technology equivalent or greater than the present but developed in a showy rather than practical way. The mechs they have are poorly programmed and not very durable.

The Huntsmen, the closest thing they have to Special Operations are trained mainly for pest control and peacekeeping.

While I understand that this is most likely not what's meant, the actual explanations for these things are fourth-wall breaking. For example, the fact that they fight mostly at close range and guns are basically worthless is because it is more fun to animate. Of course, in a story, that doesn't provide an in-universe explanation. Therefore, unless I ignore the issue completely, I need to make up some kind of reasonable backstory for why things are like they are, hence the idea of peaceful complacency.

Chapter 23 - The Burning Limelight

"Right, let's go," said Ruby setting of at far slower than her normal speed, with Markus following closely, and the rest of the group trailing behind.

A few minutes later and they encountered more ruins, to their left and right rose what looked to the Lone Wanderer to be something similar to the dilapidated highways that he had encountered in DC. Overhead the Nevermore circled, following them with ease. Sometimes he hated being right.

 _How the hunters have become the hunted_ , he thought dryly.

Far in front of them, a ruined tower rose high against the cliff face, the clearance between the sheer rock and the once proud building indeterminable due to perspective. All of the students ran to cover, each with their respective partner. The giant bird landed on the tower, clearly having spotted them.

"Well that's great," said Yang, giving voice to everyone else's thoughts.

Just then, the Deathstalker burst through the trees actually toppling several of them as it advanced. It was time for desperate measures.

"I have a plan," the Courier said. "Follow me." he commanded, running left, further under the ruins. His voice carried easily, accustomed to having conversations over a barrage of gunfire.

Despite having no reason to, the students found themselves trusting Markus, and followed him into cover (Charisma:10.)

"Nora, distract it!," said the one wearing green.

Nora, as her name apparently was, dodged the feathers of the Nevermore and fired what appeared to be a M32 Multiple Grenade Launcher at the bird as the pair crossed towards the rest of them. While it did not do any damage and only a couple of the Dust rounds hit, it did its job in suppressing the creature and allowing Nora and her partner to reach Markus.

"So what's the plan?" asked Yang somewhat nervously as the Deathstalker began to rush them. "Lure it towards us, collapse the columns on it and trap it in the rubble. Then kill it while it's trapped."

"Who's going to collapse the columns?" asked the black themed girl.

As the Deathstalker neared them Markus said laconically, "Whoever can."

While the roof of the structure was too low for the scorpion's stinger to be utilized, there was just enough space between the pillars for its claws to be used. They all executed some form of dodge or leap to avoid the (relatively) clumsy swipes the scorpion made, the limited space allowed for the much smaller humanoids to avoid their pursuer.

"Yang!," Ruby said, "the support!"

Her sister let loose a series of punches and discharged her gauntlets with an effectiveness that even the Courier appreciated. She was starting to seem like a younger, less disillusioned Veronica.

Nora on the other hand, needed no prompting, she happily set about smashing the pillar to bits with the hammer her weapon apparently transformed into. The cheerfulness with which Nora smashed the stonework disconcertingly reminded the Lone Wanderer of Moira Brown. While Moira would not last ten seconds in a combat situation, she too was far too happy at times in which the severity of the situation should prohibit positive emotions. Snapping back to the present, Markus realized that he would need to prepare to move as in a matter of seconds, the structure above them began to groan.

"Now what?" said Weiss. "Run."

While the heiress was not happy with this plan, she could come up with no alternatives. She briefly considered having them all run to the ancient tower but quickly discarded the idea. Being out in the open when there was a gigantic Nevermore hunting you was a recipe for disaster. Besides, there was not much a rapier could do against a bird even with the use of Dust, and the Nevermore could continually bombard them with feathers while they tried to fend off the Deathstalker.

Once they had escaped the collapse, they turned back to the trapped figure of the Deathstalker, keenly aware that the time they come safely spend in the open was limited. It would take less than a minute for the Nevermore to realize they were exposed again.

They needed to kill this thing, quickly. The pincers and head of the Deathstalker were totally covered by rubble. A few of the hind legs were visible, as was the stinger. It flailed desperately, trying in vain to free itself. The guy wearing green, whose name Markus still didn't know, jumped to an Aura enhanced height, landed on the scorpion's stinger, and began firing his two handguns into it at point blank range. At this range, even with the (relatively) poor armor piercing capabilities of the pistols, they appeared to be doing significant damage as was evidenced by another screech from the creature. Unfortunately, this move caused it to increase the vigor of its flailing, sending the kid flying.

"Ren!," yelled Nora, for once not her psychotically happy self. He had crashed against the opposite side's supports, his Aura depleted. Easy pickings for any giant bird that happened to be flying around.

"Finish this, I'll get him," the Lone Courier ordered before turning to sprint towards the prone figure. He needed to get him out of the way before the Nevermore got involved.

Markus was across in an instant. He began to drag Ren, as he recently learned his name was, under cover. He had impacted with his back against solid stone and yet there appeared to be no spinal damage. The Courier dragged Ren with them both facing the Deathstalker, the poor kid was out like a light. He observed the rest of the students engage the immobilized Grimm.

Ruby was using the recoil from her sniper rifle to aid in delimbing the creature, appearing almost manically happy at the grisly work. Pyrrha threw her shield at the now weakened stinger, severing the business end. The device boomeranged back to her, much to the curiosity of the Lone Courier. As he was contemplating how that was possible without any visible propulsion, he had just drawn Ren under cover when a flash of black in front of him blocked his view. Evidently the Nevermore was in the fight. Just in time, Nora smashed the carapace of the Grimm with her hammer, giggling all the while appearing certainly psychotic.

The rest of the group ran over to where Ren and the Courier waited in cover. Nora immediately went to wake Ren.

"Ree-en!" She sang. He opened his eyes with a resigned sigh, presumably as a result of Nora's continued antics.

"I'm fine," he said, getting to his feet, somewhat laboriously. Now that the immediate threat was dealt with, they all turned to assess the situation.

"What shall we do now?," Pyrrha asked in Markus' direction.

Now that the immediate danger had passed, Markus felt a need to distance himself from the limelight as quickly as possible. Taking a leadership role would draw more attention than he wanted. He had only done so initially because he had no intention of watching kids die today.

"I doubt I have enough ammunition to take down the Nevermore by myself, who else can hurt it?"

While the Courier did have enough ammo, firing more rounds than he should be able to carry would be extremely suspicious. Especially considering that they were under constant observation. Rather than answer, all of the students struck a dramatic pose, facing out of the ancient structure. Markus sighed audibly this time. This was like herding cats. Not that he had ever met one but, according to an Old World saying, it was pretty difficult. For now however, he simply assumed that their very presence at Beacon meant that these kids had the skill to compensate for their lack of professionalism and unslung his Anti-Materiel Rifle.

All in all, the fight with the Nevermore was fairly anticlimactic. The bird was not as fast in terms of reaction time as even the least of them were and the ancient structure provided cover when it decided to rain giant feathers from the sky. Eight heavily armed people, two with rifles, and one with a fifty caliber, and another with a grenade launcher, as well as Weiss' extensive use of Dust meant that the Nevermore took a beating in a very short time. And unlike the Deathstalker, it had little in the way of natural protection against bullets other than size. Within a few volleys, the Grimm crashed to the ground in front of them, very dead.

"Well that was a bit anticlimactic," said Ruby as the giant Nevermore began to dissolve.

Everyone just looked at her, even _they_ recognized how childish that statement was, causing her to pout slightly.

"Let's just get back," said Weiss, as they all turned to head back to the cliffs. Now, it was time for the part that Markus dreaded most: the assignment of teams.

 **AN:** The fights in this won't be as visually appealing as those in the show because, in the show, fights and animation comes first, with everything else (including story and internal consistency) coming second. One of the things I will do in this story is fix plot holes and consistency issues as they arise. While the appeal of the show is based on cool fight scenes, I can't sustain a story the same way. Remember, real physics apply. This does not mean they can't defy the laws of physics, it only means they have to have an explanation to why it is possible. e.g. Dust, Aura, semblances. The rule of cool doesn't apply when I have to describe everything for you.


	24. Chapter 24 - A Badge In the Gears

**AN:** So the opening to season three was released, it looks promising for this story. The more conflict that there is the more useful the Lone Courier is.

Chapter 24 - A Badge In the Gears

"Russel Thrush. Cardin Winchester. Dove Bronzewing. Sky Lark. The four of you retrieved the black bishop pieces. From this day forward, you will work together as Team CRDL, led by... Cardin Winchester!"

The audience, faces largely concealed by darkness, applauded politely. As the four boys left the stage, Markus and those who would be his teammates ascended to stand before the headmaster. Markus had not known that each team would have a leader, though he really should have figured it out.

"Markus Friedrich. Lie Ren. Pyrrha Nikos. Nora Valkyrie. The four of you retrieved the white rook pieces. From this day forward, you will work together as Team MRPN(Marchpane)."

The auditorium once against erupted into applause. Amid the clapping, Nora giggled and gave Ren a hug. The headmaster continued,

"Led by... Markus Friedrich!"

Instantly, Markus felt the sinking feeling of despair. Despite this, his countenance betrayed nothing. He responded to the headmaster with a polite nod. It was all the appearance of acceptance he could muster at the moment. He feared attempting to be any more enthusiastic would come off as forced.

"Congratulations, young man," said the headmaster, before moving on.

Characteristically pessimistic, all the Courier could think was, _You have no idea what you just did_.

His brooding was interrupted by a grinning Pyrrha giving him what he assumed to have be a friendly shoulder bump. Unfortunately for her, Pyrrha had misjudged both her partner's stature and the amount of force she put into the gesture. As such, when she attempted it, she bounced back, barely maintaining her balance. Meanwhile Markus remained entirely unmoved, not responding for half a second (Perk: Stonewall). He attempted to return her smile, but barely managed a flicker of one. Right now the Courier's mind was whirring at a rate that precluded him paying enough attention to pull off any convincing acting.

This was a contingency he had not prepared for. As the newly formed team walked off the stage, Markus assessed the current situation and how he would need to adapt his doctrine around this new development.

To the Courier, being appointed team leader was one of the worse things that could have happened. While it was not by any means the worst thing that could have happened, it meant that he would have to be more social, interact more with the staff, and be responsible for the safety of three kids, all without any real authority to back his commands.

It wasn't that he couldn't do it, he recognized that he was more qualified than anyone else for the position, but rather being a leader, and a good one, was highly conspicuous. He would be forced to change his strategy. No longer could he simply hope not to be noticed.

That said, he was relatively satisfied with the composition of his team. Pyrrha was professional in demeanor and supposedly an excellent fighter though he had yet to see it demonstrated. In addition, she was socially awkward which would hopefully prevent her from prying too much.

Ren, while he did seem to be the least durable of them. He was even more quiet than either Pyrrha or he himself was. This alone was enough to make the Courier somewhat suspicious of him. It was rare for people to be that quiet without a good reason. He would be wary of him until he ascertained the reason for his near total silence. However, he knew that in this context the answer was more likely innocent than not. Ren was not likely to be a problem.

Nora however, was a more major concern. Her attitude and persona seemed to indicate a severe case of Moira-itis. If she asked him to help write a book, he was running in the opposite direction. If Moira, who had no experience with violence, wanted him to get crippled and irradiated, he shuddered to think what Nora would request. More seriously, Nora seemed reasonably competent in combat by the standards of this place, but her personality and mental state were difficult to comprehend, much less describe. If she was capable of following orders, it wouldn't be a problem, but the Courier did not have high expectations of professionalism for any of his teammates.

Still, the team overall seemed unlikely to pry into his background more than superficially. None of them seemed particularly socially adept, making it unlikely for them to question him. Despite this, he felt a need to increase the plausibility of his story and ensure it would survive scrutiny if things went badly. One could not be too careful when selling a lie this big. His story would need to be bulletproof. He could not afford for his deception to be exposed. There was no contingency he could make for that. As such, his best bet was to make sure he was never found out.

In addition, there was a far more personal reason that Markus did not like the fact he had been made leader. Being responsible for the lives of others was not something that the Courier liked. In fact, he hated it. Markus felt utterly incapable of defending others. Either they could handle themselves (like his traveling companions) or they died. It was bad enough when his responsibility was implicit in the NCR or Brotherhood, now that it was explicit, he was directly responsible for the lives of his team. Anything that happened to them would be on his conscience.

Naturally, the Lone Courier did not remember his many successes in protecting people in combat. After all, it is not successes that typically weigh on one's conscience. The amount of missions that he ran that most would consider suicidal meant that those who accompanied him often had low survival rates. As he led them (de facto, of course) he could not help but feel responsible, even if in reality there was nothing he could have done.

The Courier also knew that he had to convince the other members of the team that he deserved to have his position, and that they should follow his orders without question. Markus knew that he would have to get the team to feel as though they were in his confidence. Getting them to trust him would provide him with enough goodwill to exercise his authority in combat situations though that was still a far cry from the blind faith needed.

The easiest way to obtain said confidence, was to let the others in on a meaningless, in the sense that the fact it was currently a secret was meaningless, secret. It would also serve as a test of Nora's presence of mind.

All jokes aside, her psychological condition was of serious concern. Been saddled with a combat liability was far from ideal. But then again, he supposed he was not exactly one to talk in terms of psychological condition. But at least _he_ was functional, he rationalized to himself.

The Lone Courier had noted that Pyrrha seemed overly happy with his appointment as leader. As far as he could tell, there was no rational explanation for this. Even if she had been relieved at not being given the burden of leadership, beaming was hardly a normal expression of relief over something so trivial. Not knowing his partner's motives concerned him. While he was reasonably sure that he did not need to worry about Pyrrha literally backstabbing him, Markus only truly felt comfortable in an alliance if it was one of mutual self interest, or if he knew the character of the other party well enough to trust them. At the moment, he did not know Pyrrha's aims, nor was he extremely familiar with her character. While from what he could tell, he should have nothing to fear from her, he was nevertheless slow to trust as a rule.

All in all he appeared to have a highly peculiar team. Then again, he supposed everyone was strange once you knew enough about them.

Pyrrha, for her part, was glad that she had not been chosen as leader. More fame and praise was the last thing she needed. Besides, any accolades bestowed upon her would forever be doubted in her mind, as she could not tell if they were legitimate or that people saw her as good because they assumed that she was. There wasn't really anyone from whom she could receive an honest opinion.

It was also nice to see that Ozpin did not view her as perfect and wasn't biased towards her. In fact, acknowledgement that she was not flawless in battle was something so refreshing that she felt elated. Perhaps at Beacon she could at the very least be judged by teachers who weren't star struck by her, even if the students were.

The walk to team MRPN's newly assigned dorm was only auditorily accompanied by the relatively quiet babbling of Nora to Ren. Despite the fact it was little more than an excited stream of consciousness, Nora seemed to sense the atmosphere enough to keep her voice down.

In a dark room, far from Beacon Academy, Roman Torchwick put down his scroll with a sigh. His employers were not happy with his progress. Between the rate of Dust acquisition and the recent "ghost hack" as it had been dubbed, his position was appearing increasingly insecure. He slowly raised and lit a cigar as one of the masked members of the White Fang wheeled a seemingly innocuous black trunk into the room. Lien was exchanged.

"Open it," Roman ordered.

A movement of a crowbar later, and the glittering of Dust crystals filled the otherwise dull room.

Inspecting one he said, "We're gonna need more men."

Turning to the member of the White Fang he said, "Any news on the hacker?"

"Not yet, progress is slow, whoever it was it was certainly a professional," the emissary responded.

"Don't worry," Roman said calmly, "he can't hide forever."


	25. Chapter 25 - Foreshadowed Guilt

Chapter 25 - Foreshadowed Guilt

Evidently the rest of team MRPN had been drained from the initiation as even Nora did not speak much for the rest of the evening. In contrast, Markus was nowhere near exhausted. He was accustomed to far longer days than this. Some firefights could take hours, depending on the scale of the engagement. Compared to the amount of action he typically saw in a day, the initiation was a very short battle.

The dorm that his team had been assigned was almost directly across from team RWBY's. He saw no other teams he recognized. The Courier was found it mildly interesting that Beacon used coed dorms. While he was quite familiar with such an arrangement due to the attainment of absolute equality of treatment between the sexes by the NCR, he was surprised to find it in Remnant. After all, the only reason the NCR was so egalitarian was as a result of its founder being female.

The room itself was comfortably furnished, though it leaned more towards spartan design than extravagant. Ren, Nora, and Pyrrha all set about preparing to sleep as the sun had set a few hours earlier. The Courier did the same. While he had no intention of going to sleep, he made sure to go through the motions, intentionally appearing only slightly less exhausted than the others.

With the rest of his team slumbering, the Lone Courier decided to complete some of his more clandestine objectives. Namely, shoring up his identity.

As a result of being appointed team leader, Markus had revised his strategy to one which would draw more attention to himself. Because of this attention, he would need to further flesh out his created identity in order to better weather the almost certainly inevitable questioning. So far, he had done everything that one could in terms of documents. On paper, Vault-tec was as real as any other corporation. The only thing he could do now, would to organize physical endeavors that would support his story. The narrative that his father was chronically ill and stayed in a countryside estate year round would allow him to forge orders from his non-existent father electronically and use the newly incorporated Scroll functions on his Pip-Boy to send them with the authority of the owner of a company. To actually do this was risky of course; unless there were tangible facilities and products, the charade would be up eventually. And that was something he simply could not afford. He would need all the resources Remnant had in order to repair the Transportalponder.

The Lone Wanderer used his Pip-Boy to change into the Stealth Suit Mk. III and snuck his way to the roof; well "snuck" to the extent that sneaking is necessary when almost perfectly invisible. Regardless, he easily found the stairwell he had taken note of earlier. Once on the roof, the Courier parkoured until he had reached a comfortable position where he could safely change back out of his Stealth Suit and into his Courier Duster. While being invisible was useful, it also had the detriment of making his Pip-Boy exceedingly difficult to use. Besides, the Courier was wary of the side effects of invisibility. While to his knowledge only nightkin seemed to suffer from insanity, with the amount of mutations and modification he had done to himself, he preferred to limit his exposure.

Now that the Courier was more familiar with the value of Lien, he was aware that he had stolen a highly significant amount of money from the White Fang and their associated organizations. This meant that he had yet another group interested in his identity. The second look he had taken at the accounts he had stolen from told him that none of the money had been properly laundered meaning that there was no legal means that the White Fang could attempt to trace the funds. While he did not fear reprisals (he was accustomed to far more dangerous groups after his scal,) if they managed to trace the hack to Vault-tec, it would not take long for them to realize that it didn't exist, thereby blowing his cover.

The creation of fairly simplistic arms manufacturing plants was well within his financial and technical capabilities, even from his Pip-Boy. To his advantage, Vale appeared to be experiencing something of an industrial boom right now, meaning that the acquisition of real estate for warehouses and manufacturing plants was far easier than Markus had anticipated. Rather than individually hiring personnel to run the factories, he simply hired people to do that for him. The less involvement he had, the better. Delegating responsibility was incredibly beneficial. He intended for the company to virtually run itself. It was meant to aid him, not burden him. Still, It would be awhile before Vault-Tec started running, much less shipping products.

The biggest question was what exactly to have these places make. His narrative was that Vault-Tec made highly advanced and military products. However, due to his Brotherhood of Steel membership, Markus was wary about providing this place with technology that they weren't ready for. Therefore smokeless propellant and nuclear energy were out of the question.

As well, nothing too revolutionary could be invented; that would cause too much attention. That put most medical options were out as well. After a lengthy search on the "internet," and much deliberation, the Courier settled with creating a couple products each with moderate innovations that would be directly beneficial to him but none of which would put the spotlight too heavily on Vault-Tec.

Due to his intimate knowledge of the design of standard ammunition, it was not difficult for him to adjust the ratio of Dust to that of gunpowder in order to increase total acceleration. As Dust was a less efficient propellant than cordite he would need to increase the amount of Dust. This meant that longer bullets would be capable of traveling at supersonic speeds. An hour later, and the Courier had sent schematics of supersonic rounds as innovations from the "research team." His second idea was far simpler. He simply sent schematics of hollowpoint rounds. Their reduced penetration would make them useful for law enforcement and against soft targets. Still, he expected only a limited market for them. The inherent fragmentation properties of the standard Dust based round made them nearly as effective at antipersonnel as hollow points are.

In order for these things to be actually implemented, the Courier also needed to modify the designs of existing machines for the manufacturing of ammunition to fit the new dimensions and schematics of ammunition he was having made. Once again Remnant's network of terminals proved useful. Adapting the existing designs took only a small amount of time, especially compared to how long it would have taken for him to design the machines from scratch. He sent the schematics to specialized third party companies that would have the machines manufactured and delivered to where they were to be used.

The last thing he needed to do was to acquire a source of raw materials. Naturally, with their practical monopoly, Snow Dust company was the only option. As much as he found them to be suspicious in both their business partners and practices, anything else would cast suspicion on _him_. Actively going out of his way to avoid purchasing from the SDC would be unusually enough to spark curiosity from somebody or other. Interestingly enough the company was capable of supplying him with both the Dust and the brass he needed. For having the word "Dust" in their name, the company had done a surprising amount of diversification. Markus was surprised that they had not yet renamed to something more accurate and representative of the variety of products and divisions they possessed.

That was about all the Courier felt he could accomplish at the moment. While Markus desired to assemble one of the higher caliber weapons whose schematics he had retrieved from the remnants of a USSOCOM base near D.C., he knew that he did not have the materials, tools, and the time to build a weapon from scratch. Still, it was a priority for him. The fact that his Anti-Materiel Rifle caused nowhere near lethal damage to the larger Grimm was of major concern to him. The only reason the initiation had gone as well as it had was his ability to drop several tons of stone on his enemy. His surroundings weren't always going to be on his side after all. He shelved his thoughts however. There was nothing he could do for the time being, and thusly there was no use in dwelling on it further.

The Courier decided to head to bed. A tired Courier was one that was not operating at optimal capacity. If he was not operating at optimal capacity, he was far more likely to make mistakes he could not afford. He sighed to himself as he changed from his Duster back into his Stealth Suit and made his way back to the dorm. He reminisced to himself about the days when things were simpler; when he knew what he should be doing and his problems could be solved by shooting at them. While it wasn't that he didn't appreciate the (relative) peace here, it was that everything was now far more complicated. He had never been undercover this long before. Unlike most other times he had been undercover, it was quietly likely he would remain so for months. The Courier slipped into his bed soundlessly with his mind a million miles away switching from his stealth suit into his sleepwear before closing his eyes. Slowly, the Lone Wanderer's thoughts turned to less technical aspects as his mind wandered. He wondered briefly about the classes that he would have the next day. At least none of the teachers would be as bad as Mr. Brotch. Or so he thought.

The transition to sleep, and the dream that followed, was sudden.

 _For once, the Lone Courier did not recognize his surroundings. His dreams mostly took place in the past in locations he knew well. Of course, his mind at rest, he would not realize this until after he had awakened. His surroundings were entirely obscured by shadow, however from the silhouette of the horizon he was in a coniferous forest. The sky was a purgatorial gray, foreboding, but not indicating a future storm nor a recent one. The dream was entirely silent. Of course, he was in a clearing. Dark dreams always take place in clearings. As Markus was not a lucid dreamer, he was entirely at the mercy of his subconscious. Forced to watch, unable to shut his eyes from his dream or interact in any form but emotions. The woods started to glow red. Not a blood red, a pale red. From the edge of every object the same ghastly glow emanated. Each individual pine needle pulsed with the same illumination. Suddenly, all light disappeared as a shadow was cast over the sky. Involuntarily, Markus looked up. Covering the residual light of the overcast sky was a Nevermore of colossal proportions. No light could pass it. It was scores of times larger than the one that they had encountered at initiation. And just as suddenly as it appeared, it vanished. The light returned, brighter. Harsher. The clouds were gone, in their place hung a shattered moon, drenched in flowing blood, pouring its crimson torrents like at waterfall. There were no stars in the sky. Only infinite dark. As physics do not exist in the land of one's dreams the blood acted in a two-dimensional manner, falling directly onto the hands of the Courier. As he looked up from his blood covered hands he was greeted by a far more horrifying sight. In the center of the clearing three figures stood. Perhaps "stood" was not the correct word, "hung" would be more accurate. From left to right, Pyrrha, Nora, and Ren hung from crosses. Crucified. The dried blood indicated that they had been hanging for a while. In a few seconds, their bodies rapidly decayed, leaving nothing but mummified corpses. Their heads simultaneously looked up at him, empty sockets staring a silent a silent accusation at him. Markus' gaze returned to his hands. They were now stained crimson. Deep cuts along both palms read, "How many more?"_


	26. Chapter 26 - Scio Me Nescire

Chapter 26 - _Scio Me Nescire_

The Lone Courier awoke the same way did everyday since he was ten years old and had first gotten his Pip-Boy. The device injected acetylcholine directly into his bloodstream, either as a result of the inbuilt alarm or the detection of enemies. This caused him awake far more abruptly than normal humans did. While this feature was touted by Vault-Tec (the Old World one) it more often than not was a burden to Markus. It prolonged his dreams. One could not wake from a nightmare when sedated. It also meant that should he ever not have his Pip-Boy, his sleeping and awakening would be highly irregular.

Markus was relieved to awake from his dream. Even someone who knew nothing about psychology would be able to discern at least some of the causes of his nightmares. As he performed his new morning routine, he was troubled by his mental state. Evidently, the burden of leadership was troubling him far more than he thought it was if he was dreaming about it already. Of course he did not rationally think that he was going to get his team killed. Nor could he determine why their deaths particularly bothered him so much. People around him died all the time. While it was not something he liked or was overly callous about, and it damaged him more than he was willing to admit, in the wasteland, death was merely a fact of life. The fact that he was having nightmares about it was what was peculiar. Perhaps it was because they were so young that it bothered him more so than normal? In any event, he had more pressing issues. He had no time to play psychologist in a mirror.

The others had begun to wake up. Pyrrha as was subdued as usual, though seemingly not entirely awake. Nora was bouncing around waking Ren up by literally singing his name. The Courier was beginning to understand how the Misfits felt. At least his team was competent though. Markus thought he heard a whistle through the walls. He was unsure if anyone else was capable of hearing it, so he didn't mention it. If there were no other sounds following it, it was nothing to worry about. Should, however, it be followed by more alarming sounds that could indicate hostile intent then he could-

"Good morning!," said Pyrrha cheerily addressing the entire room.

The shattering of the Courier's silent introspective jolted him from his fears. The interjection of a lively voice served to make Markus more optimistic about the future. Interaction with others always served to break the power of nightmares and the self-doubt that had encompassed him.

"Good morning," echoed the rest of the team with varying degrees of enthusiasm.

"So," said Pyrrha, "What shall we do first, Markus?" The Courier answered instantly.

"First, we need to unpack."

The impression of knowledge and confidence would inspire both. Nora giggled as they all separated to empty their respective luggage. The Lone Wanderer was beginning to feel that that was her default state. Still, it didn't bother him too much. He had learned to enjoy the company of eccentric companions.

As the rest of team MRPN emptied their suitcases the Courier, as nonchalantly as possible, digitized his luggage. Simultaneously all the other occupants of the room turned towards him with a similar looks of shock and confusion on all their faces.

"What was that?" asked Ren.

Markus turned to Pyrrha and tapped his Pip-Boy.

"Remember how I said this had 'other functions'?"

"You did not mention… this."

Pyrrha and the others were not quite sure what they had seen.

"That's because technically I'm not supposed to tell anyone about this."

Pyrrha was confused now.

"Why are you telling _us_ then?"

"My father sent a lot of prototypes with me for field testing. Most of which are classified due to contracts. I haven't technically told you anything. Besides, it's not like you guys would tell anyone. I can't tell you what it does, but it should not be too hard to figure out yourselves."

Still, seeing a couple of suitcases vanish after being surrounded by a slight glow did not provide any real clues. After about a minute of silent contemplation between the three others, the most unexpected thing happened.

Nora said, "It turned the suitcases into numbers!"

Silence reigned for about thirty seconds.

"Matter digitalization," Ren interpreted slowly.

The Courier nodded but said nothing. It seemed that Nora was more like Moira than he had expected.

"We seem to be finished unpacking," Pyrrha said, somewhat unnecessarily.

"Next, we need to get to class," said the Courier. Checking his Pip-boy he found that, "our first class starts at nine. And it is…"

"Nine fifty-five" finished Ren.

"Well, time to run," said the Courier.

As they set off, he made sure to trail slightly behind Pyrrha. Even with the others' Aura enhanced speed and his weak Aura, his bionic enhancements more than made up the difference, allowing him to outpace anyone save Ruby in a sprint to say nothing of endurance running. On that front his time as a Courier had given him an immeasurable advantage. Only a few meters in front of them, team RWBY appeared to be in a similar situation. What their excuse was, he had no idea.

While the rest of the students were entirely oblivious to their surroundings, the Courier did not fail to notice the Headmaster sipping his coffee, somewhat amused at the sight of eight seventeen year olds running with varying degrees of desperation.

Well, in this instance, Markus would be the first to admit that he had been wrong. Professor Port was somehow more boring than Mr. Brotch. How such an incompetent teacher had gotten a job at such a prestigious academy, he had no idea. At least Mr. Brotch taught things. Professor Port merely regaled the students with anecdotes about his life filled with so much embellishment that nothing useful could be discerned.

Markus was actually quite disappointed by the so far poor quality of education that Beacon provided. When deciding to actually attend Beacon he had hoped to actually learn when there. Now it appeared that all the time he spent there would be wasted.

While the Courier was only half paying attention, with an brain such as his (Intelligence:10) this would be more than sufficient to get perfect marks in a joke class such as this. He only really heard the words the "teacher" was saying after he at one point cleared his throat. Evidently it had been to quiet those who had begun to become distracted by the monotony and had begun to talk amongst themselves.

"The moral of this story? A true Huntsman must be honorable!"

The Courier mentally scoffed at that. Honor was a concept that had led to more blood spilled that it had spared. Now that he was paying attention, he had nothing better to do than tear apart this poor excuse for a lecture. Much blood had been shed merely due to someone important feeling that their precious honor had been stained. Case in point, the Legion claimed it was honorable and believed wholeheartedly too.

For the Lone Courier, honor was a limitation on the means he could use to achieve his ends. This was unacceptable as the ends for which he fought were of such a nature that failure was not an option. It was a moral imperative that he achieved his objectives and he while he would seek the most moral way to accomplish said objective using, if it came down to it (and it often did) he was willing to use any means necessary. After all, if failure was an option, then there was hardly a need to fight in the first place. If his loss was a morally acceptable result, then he really had no business killing people over the issue in the first place.

"A true Huntsman must be dependable!"

Was this man a teacher or something who had to come up with motivational posters for elementary schools? Advising someone to be dependable was hardly practical information, nor did it have anything to do with being a Huntsman specifically. People in general should, and often do, strive to be dependable.

"A true Huntsman must be strategic, well-educated, and wise!"

While this advice was technically sound and was likely the first applicable information given, it simply amounted to "be virtuous!" which was about as useful as telling someone to be better.

"So, who among you believes themselves to be the embodiment of these traits?"

If any of these kids believed that they were wise, well, they would have problems in the future. He wondered if they even knew what the word philosophy meant. While that was largely a joke, he did realize that it didn't seem the sort of thing that would be in the curriculum of combat schools. While the Courier realized that he was considered by many highly respected people to be the literal embodiment of those traits, he would never, under any circumstances say so himself. The only type of person who would declare themselves the embodiment of those traits would be someone with nothing but a total lack of humility, tact, and knowledge of social convention.

Naturally, White raised her hand.

"I do, sir," she said confidently.

Of course _she_ would, exhibit A of hubris and affluenza here ladies and gentlemen. Port's voice halted the Courier's thoughts of disdain and characteristic snarkiness.

"Well, then, let's find out! Step forward, and face your opponent!"

Markus sat up straighter in his seat. Opponent? Now there was something worth paying attention to. _"Well at least this should be interesting."_


	27. Chapter 27 - Morituri Te Salutant

Chapter 27 - Morituri Te Salutant

From a cage, the two demonic eyes of of a Boarbatusk glared angrily out. The Courier had difficulty even thinking that sentence without snickering. Boarbatusk _. Really?_ That was possibly one of the least intimidating names anyone could possibly come up with for a psychotic boar. Still, he watched with interest as White took up a position facing the cage containing the growling and squealing killer pig. Her teammates were cheering her on from the sidelines.

This should not be too difficult. The creatures aren't armored enough to stop even 9mm rounds. Still, she didn't have a 9mm. She had, quite stereotypically for someone of the upperclass, a rapier. To be honest, it looked more like a spike, though the cylinders of dust in the handguard caused Markus to delay his verdict on its practicality for the time being. He had seen what she could do with dust in the fight with the Nevermore.

"Yeah represent teeeam RWBY!," he heard Ruby yell excitedly. White lowered her "sword" and turned to her leader,

"Ruby! I'm trying to focus!"

 _"So much for moral support,"_ thought Markus. He idly wondered why her voice was so... bratty. Either she did it intentionally, it was a result of her upbringing, or it was something she was born with. In the case it was the latter he pitied her, if it was the former, she was clearly sadistic, and if it was a result of her upbringing he still pitied her, just not as much.

"Alllright! Let the match...begin!"

The professor smashed the lock off the cage with his axe. The Boarbatusk charged directly at White, the second the cage was open.

 _"Either going for a quick kill or overcome with bloodlust,"_ the Courier surmised. Despite all that he had learned in his time here, Markus had so far not found any information on how intelligent the Grimm were. When he had read the name of this class ("Grimm Studies") he had anticipated that he would learn that here. Instead he found that the time was wasted with an old man reliving his glory days and sexually harassing seventeen year olds.

Still, he decided to find a scientific study on the psychology of the Grimm or, if one did not exist, write one. "Know thine enemy" after all. The more he knew about the Grimm, the better he could predict them. In his travels, he had found that animals became extremely predictable once you understood their method of thinking on a theoretical level. Creatures of instinct naturally followed predictable patterns. If the same held true with Grimm, things would be a cakewalk.

White had managed to deflect the initial charge with her rapier and rolled to the side, taking up a fighting stance. Markus frowned slightly. While her technique was impeccable, she was treating the entire thing like it was a duel. This should have been over already. The longer the fight lasted the more chances Murphy's law had to take effect.

The fact that this fight was not over was a testament to either the limits of White's weapon or her fighting style or perhaps both. Had she used any form firearm she would have been able to gun down the creature as soon as it left its cage. Had she attempted to finish the fight as soon as possible she could have skewered the boar on her rapier in the manner that was classically done with spears in medieval boar hunts. Yet, she did neither of those and instead took a course of action that did nothing to bring her closer to winning the battle.

The Grimm maintained a distance between itself and its opponent. Evidently it had been going for a quick kill and it was now strategizing after that tactic had failed. The Lone Wanderer was somewhat concerned by this development. Very few creatures he had encountered displayed this level of intelligence. That Grimm had the ability to learn and act tactically was an important revelation. If the rest of the Grimm were comparable in intellect then these kids would have their work cut out for them.

"Ha-Ha! Wasn't expecting _that,_ were you?" The Professor exclaimed.

 _"She really should have expected that,"_ the Courier reflected, _"charging was something boars had a reputation for."_

"Hang in there Weiss!," Ruby yelled.

The Boarbatusk began to charge again. White then actually ran to meet the charging Grimm, rapier pointed directly at the center of the creature's armored forehead. As far as Markus could tell, there were three possibilities. Either that rapier was stronger and sharper than it looked, White was going to use dust, or, this was going to end badly.

As the rapier connected with the beast's carapace, and slid, it became evident that the latter was true as the situation rapidly deteriorated. White's weapon had become stuck between it Boarbatusk's well, tusks. Now she was holding on to the hilt for dear life as the creature thrashed around trying to dislodge her. Markus noticed that despite this, no one seemed particularly concerned. Aura he supposed. With it, things that would ordinarily be considered criminally dangerous bore hardly any risk.

"Bold, new approach. I like it!"

On top of everything else, Port seemed to be totally ignorant of sway of the combat, entirely unaware that this was not intentional. Ruby once again tried to encourage her partner, "Come on Weiss, show it who's boss!"

The heiress turned, while being dragged, and glared at Ruby.

The feat was frankly impressive in terms of the agility in movement and presence of mind required to perform the maneuver while in such a precarious position. Unfortunately this was undercut by a sudden jerk from the Boarbatusk which sent the rapier flying out of the girl's grasp to land on the other side of the arena.

"Oh-ho!," said Port, more amused than he had any right to be, "Now what will you do without your weapon?"

For the Courier, while his Pip-boy largely negated his need for a sidearm, he knew that there was a reason that 9mm pistols were standard issue in the NCR in addition to their service rifles. Now that White was disarmed of her primary weapon, she was defenseless.

Fortunately for her, White looked up at the last second and rolled, narrowly avoiding getting smashed by an angry mutated boar. Even more fortunately, the Grimm was incapable of halting it momentum and careened into a desk. The girl rushed to her sword and managed to snatch it before the creature could recover.

"Weiss, go for its belly," yelled Ruby, "there's no armor underneath!"

As White possessed functional eyes, she was understandably bothered by this redundant information.

"Stop telling me what to do!" White yelled back.

The Courier had become concerned in regards to the functionality of team RWBY. Did White not understand that as team leader that was literally Ruby's job? Not that she was qualified, but she certainly had the institutional power to lead. Dissent in the ranks this early made him worry about his own position. He simply hoped that his team-he looked at Nora-most of his team, he amended were capable of acting rationally. He didn't think he could handle wrangling a bunch of emotional, hormonal teenagers. The irony that they were all the same age was not lost on him.

Still, at least this set the bar low for expectations of his leadership. Note to self: Don't start a fight with your subordinates on the first day. Still, if the conflict between the members of team RWBY was inevitable then it was best for it to be resolved early. Besides, if Ruby could resolve it herself it would boost her authority and respect immensely within her team. Based on the hurt and crushed expression on her face, Markus did not have high hopes however.

The Boarbatusk did something...interesting for lack of a better word. It jumped in the air and executed a continuous forward roll. While this allowed it to gain momentum and would likely be useful against light, numerous enemies, it did nothing to protect it from gunfire or, as it was about to find out, glyphs. The glyph sent the animal flying and almost immediately propelled White after it at a much more controlled pace. As the creature lay disoriented White impaled it through the abdomen. It seemed that she was lucky enough to hit something vital as with a dying squeal the Boarbatusk began to sublimate. And so the fight ended, _x_ minutes and y seconds after it had started, _x_ minutes and _y_ -10 seconds after it should have ended.

"Bravo! Bra-vo! It appears we are indeed in the presence of a true Huntress-in-training!"

White stood at attention from her exhausted position. The Courier had to keep himself from snorting derisively. Almost killed by an oversized pig.

While her technique was impeccable in terms of precision, her weapons, tactics, and fighting style left much to be desired. The only thing that she demonstrated in that fight was that the melee capabilities of her weapon could not penetrate bone and that she possessed a reasonable reaction time.

The use of glyphs was the most confusing thing to Markus. If she had used them from the beginning the fight would have been over in an appropriate amount of time. This entire fight had been an exercise is confusion.

"I'm afraid that's all the time we have for today. Be sure to cover the assigned readings, and... stay vigilant! Class dismissed!"

White glared and turned away, striding purposefully towards the exit, brushing past her teammates.

"Sheesh, what's her problem?" Asked Yang, voicing the feeling of all those present. Markus merely shrugged.

"Problems. That's more than one."

He turned to Ruby.

"Good luck with her."

 _"You'll need it."_ he thought to himself.

"Just remember that her problem does not stem from your actions. Nothing you did warranted that reaction. Besides, if she can't fight with distractions that's another problem."

This was partially actual compassion and partially manipulation to keep things running smoothly. The better things went for team RWBY the better would go for him. Based only on their respective schedules they would be seeing a lot of each other. A dysfunctional team would be a liability on him as well. Or so he told himself. After all, everything he did nowadays was calculated, wasn't it?


	28. Chapter 28 - Requiem For A Dream

Chapter 28 - Requiem for a Dream

The Lone Courier was on the roof again. Weeks had passed uneventfully since the initial day of classes. The internal troubles of team RWBY had apparently been resolved without much difficulty or flare. As for his own team, they remained surprisingly quiet and professional compared to virtually all the other students. Of course, this was all with the notable exception of Nora. Ren seemed to keep her under control though. Still, that did not prevent her from regaling them daily with her ridiculous dreams. If he tried the same, the Courier reflected, the rest of his time would all likely end up needing therapy.

On a similarly positive note, the rest of the teachers seemed to be vastly more competent than Port was. Markus would have been disappointed if these classes had proven to be a universal waste of time. Oobleck, while eccentric, seemed to be highly competent and well educated. Goodwitch was more what he had expected from a prestigious combat academy. Strict and professional to a near military degree was the best way to describe her.

As far as interactions with his team went, there were none of note. The Courier made sure to maintain a friendly but professional demeanor. His primary concern was preventing anyone prying into his past. To this end, he made sure not to say too much nor too little. He managed to generate the requisite amount of small talk needed between himself and Pyrrha as well as, to a lesser extent, the other members of the team. The small talk was about entirely inane thing that had no relevance. It was simply conversation for its own sake, and all parties were satisfied by that.

The Courier had to admit that he was having an embarrassing amount of difficulty trying to have casual conversations. Fortunately, Ren was generally occupied dealing with Nora meaning that he rarely had any opportunity or reason for speaking too much with either of them.

Markus could not accurately express how glad he was that Ren and Nora had been paired. While hyperactivity and strange mental disorders were things that the Courier could effectively deal with, he found them substantially harder to live with.

In the course of the classes, the Courier had not had any opportunity to demonstrate his skills. This was a double edged sword, as while this meant that his command would not be second guessed, it meant that he also had no opportunity to gain the respect needed to increase his authority. He supposed it didn't really matter. Pyrrha, for whatever reason, was far happier than he was with his appointment as leader. Ren, didn't seem to care, and Nora, well, was Nora. He wasn't even sure if she knew she was supposed to listen to him.

Still, Markus was happy with the composition of his team. He had really gotten lucky. All of them were quiet or insane enough to prevent problems like those that had faced team RWBY to arise. There did not seem to be any internal division. Pyrrha and Nora were both too good-natured to generate conflict and Ren was too stoic and downright quiet. Having to resolve problems between his teammates was something he was more concerned about than any enemy they might face. The truth was that the social capabilities and interests of his team mattered more to him than their combat prowess.

 _"As long as they don't get killed."_

The thought came into his mind unbidden, and he dispelled it as quickly as he could. They all had magical force fields, they were going to be _fine_ , he told himself. But doubt remained.

The Lone Courier now turned his attention to more pressing concerns and reason that he was on the roof. He had spent so much time adjusting to this place and setting up his identity, that he had almost forgotten the transportalponder. The construction and hiring in Vault-tec was nearly completed. Production would start soon. A significant amount of his time was spent ensuring that no one important became aware of the massive business expansion he was undertaking. Markus also understood that his ability to manage the company and ensure everything ran smoothly (or ran at all for that matter) was inconsistent and limited while he was at Beacon.

There was also a large amount of various bureaucratic issues that needed to be dealt with in both the setting up and running of the company. To this end the Courier had, over the past couple of weeks, recruited executives to operate and manage the various parts of the company. While he still had absolute authority, the company would run itself for the most part. This hands-off approach was justified by the supposed illness of his father, as well as the fact that he was attending Beacon. He justified the simultaneous hiring of multiple top officials through the narrative that Vault-Tec was expanding from R&D into manufacturing.

Returning his attention to the present, Markus materialized the transportalponder from his Pip-boy before dropping it instantly. As it smoldered where it sat on the roof, the reason for his reaction was clear, the device was still red hot from being fried by a Tesla cannon. If the Courier's skin were not augmented by various means to be extremely resistant to damage, as well as the effects of the fire ant DNA, he would have certainly had enormous burn marks on his hands. As it was, there was slight red discoloration. However, with his enhanced rate of healing, the marks would be gone before he even left the roof.

The light of the shattered moon made his enhanced vision almost entirely unnecessary as he inspected the damage the tesla cannon had done. The state of the moon still unsettled him. Assuming that the damage was caused by the aliens and that he had not been flung far into the future, he worried for the crew of mothership Zeta. He took some consolation in the fact that if the aliens had won, there would not be a civilization still around. The crew were probably fine.

Returning his attention to the smoking wreck on the ground in front of him, he distinctly smelled the fumes of burning plastic. As the smoldering died down, he could see that the plastic body had melted, dripping onto the circuits. While this was something that he could repair in a relatively short amount of time, even with no knowledge of the device's internal workings, it required spare parts, which he had an abundance of, and specialized tools, which he had less of an abundance of. The damage was not something he would be able to repair on the roof of a school without precision instruments. He supposed it was a good thing he had the means to acquire an entire electronics workshop.

Still, it would take a while. It did not seem he would be going home any time soon. While it wasn't that he missed the wasteland or even his friends there, (he had been gone for longer after all) he really wanted to get some answers from the Think Tank. He just hoped this Dust stuff wasn't fissile or else the Big Empty was about to get even emptier. With a sigh, he re-atomized the device and lept from the roof, making his way back to his dorm. He could make no more progress tonight. It was better to rest. _"Time to roll the dice,"_ he thought as he drifted into the domain of his subconscious.

Much to the Courier's disappointment, a dreamless sleep was not in store for him that night. However this dream would not be quite as ghastly as the previous had been. No, this type of dream was far more common. Instead of a future, Markus dreamt of the past.

 _The sky was grey, though the clouds were no threatening. The Lone Wanderer scanned the horizon for enemies. Seeing none, he lowered his 10mm._

 _"Thanks for getting me out of there, son."_

 _Vault 112 was now behind them, Dr. Braun trapped in a virtual purgatory for eternity._

 _"Didn't enjoy being a dog?"_

" _While having four legs had its perks, I do admit to having missed opposable thumbs."_

 _The two shared a comfortable chuckle before continuing. They needed to get to the citadel as soon as they could._

" _I heard that you defused that bomb in Megaton. I just want you to know, I'm proud of you."_

 _The praise made Markus feel slightly awkward._

" _It wasn't exactly safe to have an undetonated nuke in the middle of a town, it was just the smart thing to do."_

" _That doesn't make your accomplishments any less impressive. Your actions may have saved the entire town. Never undersell the value of someone willing to do the smart thing. The world would be in a lot better shape if we had more people like you."_

 _Of course, the pleasant memories would not last. The scene faded to one of more traumatizing proportions. Once again, he saw his father flood the radiation chamber, and once again felt the pain of an ordinarily lethal dose of radiation. As his body was racked with mind fracturing pain, he involuntarily, as one acted in dreams, turned his gaze downward, towards his hands. As usual, they dripped with blood. It did not take a genius to realize what was meant by blood covered hands as he watched his father's death throes._

Markus woke spasming in pain. In his long career of Lone Couriering, he had been, shot, stabbed, poisoned, exploded, and had every single body part crippled. Nothing compared to what he had felt when he had activated the purifier. The continuing effects were something that technology did not seem to be able to cure as his case, as far as he knew, was unique. No one else had ever survived receiving so much radiation without becoming ghoulified. Despite the radiation resistance provided by his power armor, as well as the copious amounts of Rad-X and the continual usage of Radaway, the Lone Wanderer had received far in excess of the lethal amount of radiation. He had not known the symptoms when he walked into that chamber. Previously, he had followed his father's last command so never saw exactly what happened to him. The bleeding from every orifice. The cancers and sores. It was virtually divine providence that he had survived.

Ever since his father's death, Markus had been wracked by guilt, no matter how many times he determined that there was nothing he could have done. He had analyzed and agonized over every detail of what had happened and determined that there was nothing he could have done, with the knowledge he had, that would have prevented his father's death. In the end, this was of little comfort. Emotions rarely listen to reason. Of course, this was not an excuse to act irrationally. Listening to one's emotions was a choice after all.

Apparently no one had noticed his spasms, or at least they weren't mentioning it. It had occurred early enough in the morning that everyone likely should have been sleeping.

Now, they were in the classroom of Professor Goodwitch. The word "classroom" was inaccurate. Arena would be a better term. Apparently this was where combat training took place. The rest of his team sat around him. Pyrrha to his left and Ren and Nora beyond her. Nora was excited at the prospect of future combat while Pyrrha and Ren maintained their calm exterior demeanors.

Markus returned his attention to the teacher's speech as her voice raised in volume.

"For our first match we will have Cardin Winchester and…" The Courier could swear she paused for dramatic effect,

"...Markus Friedrich."

Well, it was bound to happen sooner or later. He supposed that sooner was better than later. Defeating Winchester would be good for his credibility. While his team seemed to be stable, if trying times were ahead then he would need every last advantage he could get.

 **AN:** Apparently weeks pass between episodes. The composition of team MRPN does not give much opportunity for drama to occur. They are very stable and work well together. In a way, this was the ideal scenario for the Lone Courier: a team where nothing happens.


	29. Chapter 29 - Double Tap

Chapter 29 - Double Tap

Now, the Lone Courier had analyzed all significant players at Beacon, both teachers and students. He knew that Cardin was, quite simply, a bully. He had seen his type before in Butch from his childhood in Vault 101 and far worse in the raiders of the wastelands. He had long since accepted that people such as him were a simple fact of life.

Still, he had not failed to notice the continual abuses perpetrated by the various members of team CRDL.

 _"Ozpin, really dropped the ball on that one didn't he?"_ he thought to himself.

This wasn't helped by the fact that they were also all racists. What Ozpin was thinking by putting them all on one team was beyond him; a form of quarantine perhaps? Still, had they been spread out throughout the teams, while they would have annoyed the other members, they stood a better chance of becoming decent human beings simply through osmosis or an intervention.

Regardless, Ozpin was headmaster. He, or one of the other teachers, should have intervened by now. It's not like CRDL were particularly subtle about it. Ozpin had absolute authority as well. It seemed that none of the staff were really paying attention to what the students did or simply didn't care.

The continual offences and injustices committed by Cardin would have caused most to feel a burning hatred towards him, or at least intense disgust. The Lone Courier, felt none of these things. He was so used to seeing humanity at its worst, that while he found Winchester to be despicable, it induced nothing more than an aloof, apathetic, contempt for him. With the kind of things he normally dealt with, racist bullies were far down his list of priorities. They were something that virtually everyone had the power and ability to deal with.

Literally anything that Markus could think of spending his time on would be more valuable than Cardin was. If he attempted to have a civil conversation, that would likely go awfully. Any attempt at making him a better person would be equally doomed to failure. He knew Cardin's type, at best, he could scare the kid into line. That would only work temporarily and invite future conflict, potentially in the form of teenage revenge plots.

It was with these thoughts in mind that Markus entered the arena. He deliberately wore his aviators in this class so that he would be able to utilize his cybernetic eye to determine the threat level of any opponent he was matched against. Cardin's was, unsurprisingly, low. Either Goodwitch did not know this and the participants were random or, she either underestimated him, and overestimated Cardin.

It was because the Courier felt no strong emotions about Cardin that he did not plan to humiliate him publicly in the fight or concoct some elaborate scheme that would lead to his morally beneficial humbling. His overly pessimistic view of human nature meant that he had very low expectations for him.

Now that they had both reached the "stage" for lack of a better term, Markus had the opportunity to analyze the equipment that Cardin would use. He appeared to have a kind of mace that was mostly hollow. The fact that it was hollow caused the Lone Courier to doubt its viability as a weapon. The lack of weight on the business end would make it difficult to swing with too much force, even accounting for aura.

His armor, while present, (which was more than he could say for most students attending Beacon) was reminiscent of late medieval partial plate. Its combat value would likely be negligible. Crucially, he lacked any form of head protection. A plan began to form in Courier Six's mind as he switched Maria from his right hand to his left. As long as Cardin was as incompetent and arrogant as he looked, there would be no problems.

"...Begin" Goodwitch ordered.

The Courier did not move. He had no need to. Reacting would be sufficient for this fight. With a battlecry, Cardin charged towards him, swinging his mace over handedly intending to end the fight in one swing. Exploiting the weakness of the mace, the Courier sidestepped before his opponent could react and slammed the knuckleduster of the trench knife into his face. While Cardin was protected by his Aura and the Lone Wanderer was holding back, it still was enough to devastate his Aura and put him flat on his back. The Courier's servo enhanced muscles were more than capable of crushing the skull of a normal human.

With a groan, Cardin slowly started to rise, only to go back down again after the impact of two 9mm rounds to his center of mass. Professor Goodwitch called the match there.

Already Markus could hear the murmurs of the crowd. A quick glance to his left showed Pyrrha beaming. She way far happier than she had any right to be about this. He heard Ruby whisper to her team,

"Do you think that's his semblance?"

But any further discussion was inaudible. His little feat of strength likely garnered attention.

"Markus, that's enough."

Goodwitch's tone was not chastising but rather had an approving inflection. This indicated to him that she was likely aware of Cardin's status as a bully.

"As you can see, Mr. Winchester's Aura has now dropped into the Red."

The Courier wondered whether that was something that needed explaining weeks into classes but continued listening.

"In a tournament style duel, this would indicate Cardin is no longer fit for battle, and the official may call the match."

"Remember everyone, the Vytal Festival is only a few months away!" Professor Goodwitch announced.

At this, most of the room broke out in excited celebration.

"It won't be long before students from the other kingdoms start arriving in Vale, so keep practicing. Those who choose to compete in the combat tournament will be representing all of Vale."

The bell rang as she finished her sentence.

If Markus had a choice, it was highly unlikely that he would participate in something like a combat tournament. While he had done similar things in the past, he had always had ulterior motives and a higher purpose than mere glory for its own sake. Generally speaking, he had better things to be doing. As it was, with Pyrrha having a background as a champion tournament fighter and Nora being as enthusiastic as she was, it was likely he would have little choice in the matter. While he was loath to throw matches, it could become necessary if doing otherwise would cast suspicion on him.

Markus descended from the stage and rejoined his team as they exited the hall. Despite the fact the fight took mere seconds, Nora managed to keep a running monologue narrating in a style more appropriate of an eight year old and describing how "awesome" it was for the next few minutes, preventing anyone from getting a word in edgewise.

By the time they had taken their seats for lunch, no one could remember anything that they had wanted to say and so Nora turned on a dime and launched into another story. In her most dramatic voice, she narrated.

"So! There we were, in the middle of the night..."

Ren interrupted, "It was day."

Nora, now addressing Blake who was reading a book and Yang who was totally absorbed in the story literally one sentence in, "We were **surrounded** by Ursai…"

Ren interjected once again, "They were Beowolves."

"Dozens of them!" she yelled as she stood. Ruby, Pyrrha were watching with an expression of polite confusion, while the others, save Ren, were preoccupied, or, in Yang's case, totally enraptured by the tale. The Courier was looking at his Pip-Boy.

"Two of 'em."

But despite Nora's dramatic retelling, she had lost the attention of two of her audience. Ruby and Pyrrha had turned their attention to Markus. He was radiating an icy malice that was palpable to most present though his facial expression gave no sign of it. Had either of them been asked what gave it away they would not have known. Nora continued, oblivious anything had changed.

"But they were no match...And in the end, Ren and I took them down and made a boatload of Lien selling Ursa skin rugs!"

By now, only Yang was paying any attention to Nora's story. Ren sighed resignedly. He had seen this too often to be exasperated anymore.

"She's been having this recurring dream for nearly a month now."

Pyrrha looked at her leader.

"Markus? Are you okay?"

"Fine, why are you asking?" His tone was even, unsettlingly so. It was absolutely devoid of any emotion whatsoever.

Ruby was likewise disconcerted. "It's just that you seem a little... **not** okay…"

"Do not worry, everything is entirely fine. There is nothing you need to concern yourself with."

Nobody was buying a word of what he was saying. His tone was too emotionless and robotic to be at all natural. Fortunately for his sake, their attention was diverted to a more immediate scene.

The members of team CRDL were standing around a rabbit Faunus and mocking her. Much to the relief of the Lone Courier, any change to the subject was welcome at this point. They all look over as the laughter of team CRDL grows in volume, interspersed with cries of pain from the girl with rabbit ears. "Ow! That hurts!"

Her accent was quite curious to the Courier. It was Australian if he remembered correctly. He had not heard much of that accent as even in holotapes it was rare. How she had an Australian accent would have caused him maddening curiosity if he did not have far more important things currently on his mind.

She stopped struggling and merely grimaced.

"Please, stop…"

Markus wondered why she didn't defend herself. It's not that she didn't have the capabilities. She _was_ at Beacon after all. Cardin continued to laugh sadistically.

"I told you it was real!" One of his teammates commented.

"What a freak!"

Cardin finally released her ear and hurried away, head bowed, hiding her face in what one presumed to be shame.

"Atrocious," Pyrrha said contemptuously, "I can't stand people like him."

Blake added, "He's _not_ the only one…" she glared at Cardin with hate filled eyes. The Courier had noticed weeks ago she was clearly a Faunus. After all, why else would her bow be twitching? Why no one else noticed he was not entirely sure, perhaps he was comparatively more perceptive than he had thought.

"There will always be racists," Markus said cynically. "People will always create factions and hate the groups that they aren't in."

His tone was still unsettlingly emotionless. There was nothing he could do about that, but creating a conversation about something other than himself would be helpful. Yang, seemed not to notice anything unusual about him. She leaned her head on her hand.

"It must be hard to be a Faunus."

While she had been speaking, Markus stood up, glanced at his Pip-boy, pressed several buttons, and left the hall, striding purposefully from the chamber, his fury unabated.


	30. Chapter 30 - Cracked Facade

Chapter 30 - Cracked Facade

 **Two days earlier:**

Roman Torchwick was once again pouring over a map of Vale. His scroll vibrated. He picked it up.

"Yes?" he asked testily. There was a pause before he spoke.

"You got him?" Another pause.

"Never heard of it."

"Buying from Schnee Dust Company?" He chuckled sadistically.

"Well I know where our next raid will be. It's time to send a message."

 **Present day:**

Markus barely payed attention in history. He only barely made out the words the hyperactive Professor Oobleck was spewing.

"This is prior to the Faunus Rights Revolution, more popularly known as the Faunus War!"

Markus was pretty sure that revolution denoted a change in government which had not occurred and rebellion would be more accurate. At this point, he was merely attempting to keep himself occupied.

"Humankind was quite, quite adamant about centralizing Faunus population in Menagerie." He pointed at the map of said-area with his stick.

"Now! While this must feel like ancient history to many of you, it is imperative to remember that these are relatively recent events! Why, the repercussions of the uprising can still be seen to this day!"

Yet, there was no mention of a Great War two hundred years ago.

"Now! Have any among you been subjugated or discriminated because of your Faunus heritage?"

The Courier was reasonably sure that he was using the word subjugated wrong, though at this point he was searching for mental diversions more than anything else.

A smattering of hands rose, including that of the rabbit faunus they had seen earlier.

"Dreadful, simply dreadful! Remember, students, it is precisely this kind of ignorance that breeds violence!"

The Courier saw more prejudice and bias than ignorance but generally agreed. He noted that in his experience most racists were either had psychological issues or lacked a moral code.

"I mean, I mean, I mean just look at what happened to the White Fang! Now, which one of you young scallions can tell me what many theorize to be the turning point in the third year of the War?"

Someone raised their hand.

"Yes?"

Markus was disappointed that Oobleck had not gone into greater depth about the White Fang. That was information that would be useful.

White answered the question.

"The Battle at Fort Castle!"

What an original name, creative enough to rival the English in creativity.

"Precisely! And, who can tell me the advantage the Faunus had over General Lagune's forces?"

Naturally, at the first opportunity he had gotten, Markus had looked up the combat significant physiological differences between humans and Faunus.

One of their traits was being nearly as perceptive as he was, as well as many being able to see perfectly in the dark, something that not even he was capable of doing unaided. Of course, he was in too foul a mood to even consider answering the question. Even with all his experience of maintaining his composure, his seething rage was barely contained. Cardin flicking a paper football at him did not help. The kid seemed to be bitter about his loss, and stupid enough to try and pick a fight. Fortunately for Winchester, the Lone Courier had both enough presence of mind to not go on a murderous rampage (yet) and had more important things to do than deal with him.

Naturally, the impact of a triangular piece of paper garnered no reaction from the stone faced Courier. Cardin and his teammates nevertheless erupted into poorly hushed laughter. This logically caught the attention of the professor.

"Mr. Winchester! Perhaps you would like to share your thoughts on the subject?"

"Well I know it's easier to train an _animal_ than a soldier." Not only was that racist, it was factually incorrect. The Courier could train an army, training a deathclaw was another matter entirely. Oobleck merely shook his head.

"You're not the most open-minded of individuals, are you, Cardin?" Pyrrha said. The Courier despaired internally. Her sense of justice would cause her to pick unwinnable fights. Not physically of course, but ideologically there was virtually no chance of turning CRDL into decent people. Still, he fingered the grip of Maria. Best to draw first if trouble started.

"What? You got a problem?" Cardin postured.

"No, I have the answer! It's night vision. Many Faunus are known to have nearly-perfect sight in the dark."

In Markus' opinion, this was not a fact that one should be particularly proud of knowing. It should be something that these people knew merely due to their extended contact with Faunus.

Blake now chimed in.

"General Lagune was inexperienced, and made the mistake of trying to ambush the Faunus in their sleep. His massive army was outmatched, and the general was captured."

As Markus recalled from Clausewitz's _On War,_ large battles were to be avoided at night as the defender an innate advantage, even without having night-vision. The correct way to have done it would be to attack from the east in the early hours of the morning with the sun at your back. Logically, if the Faunus could see in the dark because their eyes were more sensitive to light, then they would be far more blinded than ordinary humans would be.

Blake turned to Cardin,

"Perhaps if he'd paid attention in class, he wouldn't have been remembered as such a failure."

The Courier was still hung up on how this massive military disaster had happened in first place. He found it hard to believe that none of Lagune's advisors or his aide de campe would have failed to mention the Faunus' night vision to the general. This was a failure on multiple levels. Somehow an entire army lacked information on something that was supposed to be common knowledge.

Cardin stood up with his fists clenched. Markus leveled Maria in his jacket and flicked off the safety, ready to fire.

"Mr. Winchester! Please take your seat!" The tension was diffused by Professor Oobleck, "You can see me after class for additional readings. Now! Moving on!"

The Courier tuned out the rest of the lesson, surreptitiously watching Cardin for any hostile actions. Idiocy and indignant rage make even cowards brave.

As the class ended, Markus left with the rest of his team. Pyrrha was angry as well, though her emotion was as a candle to the sun in comparison to the Courier's murderous rage.

"I cannot **stand** Cardin," she fumed.

Nora had a very violent (and very effective) solution,

"Let's break his legs!"

The Courier, even though his fury was not directed at Cardin, was having dark enough thoughts to agree.

"We would need to do it in a way that it would not be clear we did it and preferably that it was anything other than an accident," he mused.

Ren and Pyrrha took a slight step back from the other two, Pyrrha's own anger momentarily forgotten. Nora was still grinning maniacally. Markus' voice was still liquid nitrogen. Everything he said was entirely dispassionate.

"Are you sure you're okay?," Pyrrha asked, worried by her partner, for the second time that day.

"I'm **fine** ," he said forcefully but still unconvincingly, the tone was still there. "I'll catch up to you guys later," he said, disappearing into the crowd.

The remaining members of team MRPN looked at each other, Nora still wearing her psychotic smile.

Markus was heading to the roof. This was something he needed privacy for. He focused on his objective with single minded determination. He reached the roof and started interacting with his Pip-Boy. Data...Messages... "Headline: Another Dust Robbery. Dust purchased from Schnee Dust Company was stolen from a warehouse owned by the company Vault-tec after the building was stormed by suspected White Fang operatives. Personnel staffing the building are as of yet missing with the police reporting signs of a struggle. It is unclear whether further investigation will take place."

The Courier was familiar enough with how these things worked to know that the police had almost certainly been bought off, with the few not overtly corrupt scared into inaction. No help should be expected from them. The fate of his employees, was enough in itself for him to take bloody retribution on the White Fang. The other message he had received gave him cause to wipe them out.

The other message was from a source known for being untraceable. It had no text, but was instead a photograph. There were hostages, nineteen of them kneeling, each holding yesterday's newspaper save the central one who held a sign displaying the ransom demand. What drew far more attention was that each warehouse was staffed by twenty-five people. The remaining six were representing in the foreground, their bodies held up by a White Fang member, several conspicuous dark spots around the center of each of the victims' chests. Despite the poor quality of the image, the Courier saw the bloodstains on the wall

This evoked a visceral mixture of fury and self-loathing in Markus. Fury at the murder of innocence and guilt as he felt that by employing these people he was responsible for their safety and therefore indirectly responsible for their deaths. The worst of it was that he felt entirely impotent. He did not even know if he could trace the message. He shook the pessimistic thought from his mind. He would be able to find the source, it would only be a matter of time. He would avenge them. Fortunately, based on the way these things worked the kidnappers would not be expecting a response for weeks at least. He would have time to plan.

Unfortunately for several people, the Lone Courier had been far too absorbed to notice that Pyrrha had followed him to the roof, concerned for the mental state of her leader.


	31. Chapter 31 - Friendly Manipulation

Chapter 31 - Friendly Manipulation

In their dorm, the members of team RWBY were in deep and insightful discussion regarding the social interactions that had occurred during the course of the day and their potential consequences.

In plain English, it meant that they were gossiping.

Even those training at an elite combat school to one day protect the world were not immune to the stereotypical teenage vice of gossip, and the events of the day, specifically those regarding team MRPN, were interesting enough to warrant this sort of attention.

So far, the leadership conflict in team RWBY had been resolved and currently everyone was coexisting happily, all hoping for a lack of future internal conflict, something that even _they_ knew was inevitable. So, drama in other teams was interesting partly because they were simply glad it wasn't happening to them.

"What do you think's gonna happen with Pyrrha and Cardin?" Yang asked her team.

"Hopefully not much," answered Blake, "as much as I would like to see that jerk get what's coming to him, he's not worth getting in trouble over."

"What about Markus?" asked Ruby.

"Ice Prince?" asked Yang.

Weiss huffed indignantly in the background. The teasing had been incessant. A cold rich guy wearing white had made the metaphorical fruit hang far too low to be missed by her team. Snow angel and ice prince, a match made in the minds of sadistic teens.

"Was it just me or did he seem...colder than usual?" the team's leader asked.

"You would need to have been both deaf _and_ blind to have not noticed," Weiss said.

"He is normally very reserved," observed Blake, "this behavior is highly uncharacteristic of him."

"I wonder what got him so mad," said Yang, "Do you think it was Cardin?"

"Not from what we saw in their fight," said Weiss.

With that, the topic changed to the events of the duel. All four of them.

"That was the quickest fight I've ever seen!" said Ruby excitedly.

While this statement was slightly undercut by the fact that she had not seen that many duels, she was too exuberant to care.

"He sent Cardin flying!"

The rest of team RWBY, save Weiss who was largely indifferent, had to admit that the sight of Cardin being punched in the face was a gratifying one.

"He must be very strong in order to do that. Cardin is not a lightweight," Blake said, continuing her trend of dispassionately making observations, "The most logical explanation would be that his Semblance is strength."

"If you had noticed how he's built, it is clear that it is entirely plausible he possesses the strength naturally," said Weiss. (Perk: Heavyweight.) Of course, this comment from the heiress led the entire discussion to devolve into teasing her.

Therefore, despite their curiosity regarding the issues of team MRPN, none of the members of team RWBY ever drew any conclusions except that Weiss had a crush on Markus, despite her vehement protestations to the contrary.

Meanwhile, the Lone Courier had come to the realization that his revenge would not be immediate. It was a dish best served cold as the saying went, though in this case that was something not entirely in his control. It would take time to trace the message and determine where the hostages were being held. This would require both hacking and potentially in-person reconnaissance. In the meantime, he would play for time on the diplomatic front.

While negotiating with terrorists was strategically a bad move, he could pretend to be willing to pay in order to buy time or force them to move the hostages into a more vulnerable position. He would need to be patient. With these revelations his fury receded. He became resigned that justice would be put on hold for the time being. The emotions still existed, but were simply no longer at the forefront.

The rage no longer occupying his mind, all he was left with was the crushing guilt that his actions resulted in the deaths of civilians. While the White Fang were ultimately responsible, he knew that the deaths of his employees could have been prevented if he had acted differently. Their deaths were on his conscience.

It was in this state that Pyrrha had found him on the roof.

Markus, of course, had heard her coming long before she deigned to speak. Pretending not to notice her was what he had determined the best course of action. Displaying superhuman perception would result in suspicion being cast on him, even if Pyrrha was the only witness.

Pyrrha was in search of her leader, determined to discover the cause of his sudden change in attitude. While Pyrrha realized that she didn't know Markus that well, nor was she terribly adept at dealing with emotions and social situations in general, she felt that it was her duty as his partner to help him. From what she could tell, he had gone to the roof, she went apprehensively, lacking confidence in her ability to deal with whatever would make her normally stoic partner act as he had.

She noticed him standing silhouetted against the night sky, interacting with his Pip-Boy, turned away from her.

"Markus?," she asked.

"Yes?"

His voice was not longer as icy as it was before. Now, it was merely resigned. To Pyrrha, this was initially confusing, however she quickly determined that this was a turn for the worse. Anger was motivation, resignation was a sign of defeat.

"Whatever is bothering you, you can tell me, I will do my best to help," Pyrrha said resolutely.

"While I do not doubt your desire to help, there is little you, or anyone else for that matter, can do to better the situation," Markus said dismissively.

"At least tell me what's wrong," she said, desperate for some explanation.

Markus now turned to face her.

"You don't want to know. If you did, you would wish you didn't," he said flatly.

Naturally, this statement only made Pyrrha more determined to help.

"We're partners, we're supposed to trust each other," she said earnestly.

The Courier realized that this was the result of naivete. She truly trusted him entirely. It actually made him feel somewhat guilty about his false identity. Returning someone's earnest belief with total deception made him feel dirty. But, it was what needed to be done. It's not as though he could tell Pyrrha the truth. Well, he supposed he could, just not all of it.

"It's not that I don't trust you, it's that this is something I don't want you involved in for your own sake. If anything were to go wrong, I would be responsible. I don't want your death on my conscience. Besides, at this point, there is nothing to be done but wait."

"Why do you think that I would be in more danger of death than you are? I can fight well enough," Pyrrha said.

Markus's tone now became solemn.

"The risk is not in combat. The danger is a knife in the dark, poison in your food, a sniper in the window. These are things I've had to live with, consequences of my family's business and status. This information is not something I would tell anyone I didn't want dead. And I prefer you stayed alive."

As he said this he started to walk towards the steps. He turned towards Pyrrha.

"Make sure to get some sleep, don't worry about me, I'll be fine by morning," he said before walking away, leaving Pyrrha standing alone on the rooftop.

The Courier was very pleased with himself. This had gone about as well as he could have hoped it would.

Well, aside from the entire conversation being painfully awkward, but that didn't really matter in the grand scheme of things. All her questions had been deflected with explanations that did not reveal anything. While she likely had known he was keeping secrets he had now implied of what nature they were, hopefully sating her curiosity for the time being. The last statement was carefully calculated in order assuage her worries about him. By showing concern for her wellbeing he turned the tables to imply that he had reason to be concerned for her. Hopeful everything had had its intended effect. He would hate to have accidentally caused a depressive episode or something. As he approached their dorm, he materialized a whiskey bottle, downed it in one and continued into the room. He had forgotten how taxing infiltrations were.


	32. Chapter 32 - Eternal Autumn

Chapter 32 - Eternal Autumn

Pyrrha gazed out the window of their dorm contemplatively, while Ren loaded Stormflower, and Nora jumped on her bed.

"How come Markus gets back so late?" asked Nora, still bouncing on her bed.

"He's become rather scarce since… well, you know."

Everyone understood. Itrequired no further explanation. All members of the team remembered the most eventful day since initiation. While Markus had returned to normal the next day, they had failed to gain any information from him regarding what had caused his sudden change in attitude.

"That's _weird_... Doesn't he know we have a field trip tomorrow? We need our rest!" As Nora said this, she performed a flip in midair before landing on her back in the bed.

"I'm sure our leader knows _exactly_ what he's doing." Pyrrha said cooly.

This was not said with any bitterness or anger. Her tone was one of contemplative curiosity. She was sure he knew what he was doing, but she was also sure he was the _only_ one who knew exactly what he was doing. Pyrrha was trying to figure out exactly what their leader _was_ doing and how it was so dangerous that he would not tell her for her own protection.

"Mmmm... I guess so," Nora said before she and Ren exchanged glances.

Pyrrha had considered telling Nora and Ren what Markus had told her but something stopped her. She felt that what

The Lone Courier did not return to the dorm until late that night. He was used to operating on far less sleep.

Markus and his team, along with teams RWBY and CRDL, were being led through a forest of dull gray trunks and uniformly crimson leafs. The Courier was only half paying attention to Professor Goodwitch's long winded rambling. Long nights of hacking through unfamiliar systems made him quite irritable.

"Yes, students, the forest of Forever Fall is indeed beautiful. But we are not here to sightsee. Professor Peach has asked all of you to collect samples from the trees deep inside this forest, and I'm here to make sure none of you die while doing so."

 _How inspiring._

"Each of you is to gather one jar's worth of red sap. However, this forest is full of the creatures of Grimm, so be sure to stay by your teammates. We will rendezvous back here by 4 o'clock. Have fun!"

 _Yes, fun collecting sap. The glamorous profession of the huntsman._

Markus joined Pyrrha as everyone informally split into pairs. While sleep deprivation made his internal commentary more cynical and embittered, it did nothing to damage his facade. In truth, the Courier was by no means displeased or resentful of the task set for them. A simple and safe task such as this was far preferable to any of the alternatives.

The exchange of pleasantries and small talk were more formal than they were before the incident, Markus being aware of Pyrrha's piqued curiosity. Still, there was no actual hostility between them. They set to work on finding a tree to tap with optimal efficiency.

The task was a short one. The sap drained quickly and there were no signs of any hostile presence. Not that they would have any difficulty should they encounter Grimm. There were enough of them that it would take a very suicidal Grimm to bother them. Even with Nora stealthily drinking their jars, the entire task would take an estimated ten minutes at most.

Markus became aware of something of an anomaly in the area. There were four silhouettes on the hill. Not looking directly at them so that he would not indicate his knowledge he assessed what this told him. The fact that they were prone indicated they were trying to hide. The fact that they were silhouetted showed they were amateurs. It was basic knowledge to avoid high ground when attempting concealment for that very reason. The outline of a human is a very recognizable shape. If they were professionals, they would have deployed on the slope facing him to avoid being silhouetted.

There was one other important thing he needed to know. He turned three hundred and sixty degrees by pacing back and forth. No where he went did he see a glint. That was a good sign. It meant that if any of the observers were armed, none of them had a scope. It would have gleamed with the sun at this angle. Still, he kept moving, not entirely sure that they did not have hostile intentions. They were close enough that scoped weapons would not be necessary. However it was uncommon for assassins to forgo the use of them, unless intending an incredibly close range assault.

Markus would have mentioned it to his team, except since no one else noticed them, it seemed that they were beyond the range that ordinary human senses could perceive. As he (as far a he knew) was the only one who had reason for assassins to be after them, the others would be safe. There were not enough of the mysterious contacts to try and eliminate all witnesses. Besides, he knew of hardly any assassins who would attempt a hit in a situation like this. Every member of this group was capable of defending themselves if one of their number came under fire.

Suddenly, the Courier felt a sensation that had been honed in both wastelands: that of an object flying in his general direction. He turned one hundred and eighty degrees and activated VATS. Without pausing to identify his target, he put a single round from Maria through it. He heard glass shatter. His aim instantly shifted to the contacts on the hill. They were gone.

Once the adrenaline had worn off, he took the time to determine what exactly he had shot. It was a jar of sap, and it had been headed towards Pyrrha. It didn't take a genius to figure out who was responsible. There was only one team not present after all.

Before anyone even had time to say anything, three members of team CRDL ran through the group yelling, "Ursa! Ursa!"

The green one (Markus couldn't be bothered to learn their names) collided with Yang who hoisted him by the lapel.

"What? Where?"

"Back there! It's got Cardin!"

While Cardin was a stain on humanity, he had not committed any crimes deserving of being Ursa food and was by no means irredeemable. So, somewhat reluctantly, he prepared to go save a racist. Not something the Lone Courier did everyday. Most of them tried to kill him for one reason or another.

Ruby gave orders to her team.

"Yang! You and Blake, go get Professor Goodwitch."

The Courier took note of Ruby's leadership skills. She appeared to be competent at projecting authority and had a passable tactical mind in his opinion, and overall he could not fault Ozpin's decision to place her in command. Deciding for a multitude of reason to follow her lead, Markus decided to split his team as well.

"Nora, Ren, go with them. We don't know how many, or where they are."

That left Pyrrha, Ruby, and White to go with him to rescue Cardin. It only took moments for them to find him. He had been disarmed and was attempting to escape the monstrous bear. It swatted him to the ground. Aura made people amazingly resilient, Markus observed. That would have broken... well everything a normal person. He seemed to be fine.

"Crap, crap, crap," Cardin said as he crawled away desperately.

"Oh no," said Pyrrha.

She was far more concerned than her partner was. Between the four of them a single Ursa would not be much of a problem, even if it was larger than even the normal Ursa majors. If she was worried about Cardin's safety well, all of them (except White) had guns. Distance would not be an issue.

Seeing that no one else was reacting quickly enough to save Cardin, Markus unslung the Hécate II, knelt and fired into the creature's neck. While it did not kill it instantaneously, it hit an artery. This, along with the kinetic force imparted by the barely subsonic dust round, caused it to stagger away from the downed boy, a crimson tide flowing from its neck. Next to him, Pyrrha and Ruby opened up with their respective weapons. White merely waited, rapier tip in the ground, realizing her involvement was entirely unnecessary. The combined fire of three guns was more than enough to take out a soft target, even one of that size. It was an almost pitiable sight. Such a grand beast laid low in the undignified manner of receiving continuous hot lead, incapable of even remotely threatening its attackers. Despite its futile attempts of desperate determination.

As soon as the Ursa had sublimated, the four of them slowly walked over to the downed Cardin. As they approached, the Courier addressed the downed team leader.

"You know, I've heard throwing jars of sap at people is a good way to make enemies."

"I-," Cardin tried to respond but was cut off.

"I've also heard that people typically don't save their enemy from Grimm attacks." Markus said this all in a cheerful tone, as though commenting on how nice the weather was that day.

"It seems that if you continue like this Cardin, well, you'll have no one to save you from Ursa attacks. And we wouldn't want you to get eaten by an Ursa now, **would we**?" Throughout his sentence, Markus maintained the cheery tone, before his voice hardened on the last two words.

"Let's report back to Goodwitch shall we?" he said to the others, not waiting for Cardin to respond. They walked away with him still on the ground.

While Markus did expect not much from Cardin, a near death experience had induced dramatic change on more than one occasion before. Perhaps here, it could grant Cardin the necessary measure of perspective to become a decent human being. While he hoped it would, he did not expect it.


	33. Chapter 33 - The Introduction

Chapter 33 - The Introduction

As Markus was walking through Vale in the company of seven other people, all speaking familiarly with one another, he found himself thinking about just what had gone wrong -and right- that he had ended up in this situation.

In the Courier's experience, it was a rule that if you pretended to be something for long enough, eventually you stopped pretending and simply became that thing.

It was a rule that had exceptions, as all rules did. This was something the Courier was grateful for as it was not a rule he particularly liked. He had good reason not to be particularly fond of it. His endeavors often required him to pretend to be someone he would rather avoid becoming. However this instance appeared to be one in which this tendency of psychology was one he was unusually thankful for.

It was a rather novel experience for the Courier to have to act natural by just acting naturally. There was little particular behavior he needed to affect, and for the most part, he could act, well, _normally_. Even among his many companions that had traveled with him through the wastelands, there were very few he could truly speak freely with. Even with those few, he still felt the need to maintain the appearance of the utterly cold Courier that he had cultivated for practical purposes. Namely creating a figure for his reputation and his own sanity. Pretending to be someone he wasn't made it easier to dissociate himself from his own actions. This brought it back to his least favorite rule.

He desperately feared becoming nothing more than he pretended to be. It was, in the end, the primary reason he had companions at all. He was confident he could manage alone. He had done so enough times in worse situations. Besides, allowing anyone to accompany him automatically put them in an unprecedented level of danger. But he didn't care. All that mattered was making enough of a human connection to still feel human.

Markus had not intended to befriend team RWBY. He had certainly not intended to do so genuinely. He hadn't even planned for the friendship with his own team to be anything more than an aid to his cover with the advantage of increased combat effectiveness. Nevertheless, he now found himself able to talk almost entirely comfortably and freely among not only one team, but two. Even as they did little more than walk through the city of Vale, there was an unspoken feeling of camaraderie between the teams.

They had ended up in all the same classes and lunches, meaning that they were virtually forced to interact with each other.

One thing that took some getting used to was the sheer energy and enthusiasm possess by half of the team. Compared to the almost universally grave and dour inhabitants of the wasteland, it was a stark contrast. Even Cass and Veronica, despite their good humor, were enduring more than their share of suffering. Their level of cheerfulness, considered totally ordinary here, felt anomalous to him. Markus realized that it reminded him of being back in Vault 101, and he wasn't sure how he felt about that.

There was no doubt that the two sisters of team RWBY were far more energetic than any of the members of team MRPN except Nora, who made up for it through an at times annoying level of energy. However, Nora was not the driving force on team MRPN. Her energy was constrained to the personal sphere. By contrast, Ruby, as leader of her team, brought her team with her. Despite the differences in leadership style, the two teams got along well.

Ruby was initially obsessed with the Hécate II and had begged to see it disassembled. Apparently high caliber weapons were rare and not found often outside of military settings.

In the Courier's mind, this meant that his choice of weapon had been a mistake, though ultimately it had proved to be a rather harmless one. The issue was hand waved by the information about "his father's company." He only managed to convince her that he would show her at some indefinite point later. Her curiosity, he felt, vindicated his decision not to use any of the more advanced weapons at his disposal. Not only would it have caused more questions, it would have meant that allowing inspection of his weapons would be out of the question. As it was, there was little danger in regards to allowing the design of his weapons to be scrutinized. There was nothing that Remnant could learn from them.

In time he had felt the need to reveal the Pip-boy functions of matter digitization to team RWBY and through this bring them into his confidence. By now, the Courier had spent enough time with them that he considered them basically an extension of his team by this point. Of course, not in terms of practical matters, but in terms of mutual trust and association.

Analysis of the various members of the team revealed little in the way of their character. That would be seen by how they acted when under stress. Yang, constantly talking as they walked, appeared to be the archetypal teenage girl. Cheerful and carefree, she was another one the anomalies he had not seen since he had left the Vault.

On the tactical side, her Semblance was interesting. The ability to gain power from receiving hits and then retaliate with proportional force had interesting potential. To utilize it to its fullest potential was inherently risky. The danger of misjudging the strength of a strike was omnipresent, and given how little was known about the technical details of how Aura functioned, not an unlikely occurrence. While the Courier did not expect to have to face Yang in combat, outside the sparring matches of course, he nevertheless came up with a means to effectively counter her Semblance, as he routinely did when encountering a novel threat. His ordinary fighting style was quite effective to that end. With Yang especially, it was critical to win the fight quickly, in a single offensive action, if not a single strike. It was necessary to maintain the initiative, preventing her from making any use of her Semblance by stopping her from getting a hit off.

Yang's care for her hair was a peculiarity. Not the fact that she did, that was expected, but the level of importance she put on it and how any damage to it seemed to enrage her.

That was another thing. Her anger. As he had previously noted, she seemed prone to unusual outbursts at things that would be considered by most to be fairly benign. Her apparent instability was concerning.

Her sister, on the other hand, was a different story. Ruby, while childish, seemed to be in control of herself and capable of taking things seriously (if naively). She also seemed to be a fairly competent tactical leader. As far as teenage girls went, she had surpassed his highest expectations for leadership. Though, considering what he knew of all of their prior education, his expectations perhaps needed some adjustment. Overall though, she appeared to be one of the more effective leaders and fighters. Still, Markus found is slightly disturbing how interested a fifteen year old was in weapons. She liked them almost as much as _he_ did for christ's sake and she didn't have the excuse of living in an irradiated hellhole.

White was interesting. Her name was in German. Because Markus had learned the language, as well as several others, in the Vault half out of boredom and half out of curiosity, the Courier understood her name well enough to automatically translate it to his native language but not well enough to keep the word in its original form along with its meaning.

His trade with her family's company and their common enemy of the White Fang made her a potential ally. The actions of the terrorist group were, after all, tantamount to a declaration of war. Allies in the form of Remnant's most powerful company would not be unwelcome on that front.

However, the unethical practices of the Snow Dust Company made him hesitant to approach it, and White's stereotypical prissy rich girl attitude made him hesitant to speak to her in anything other than cordial conversation. While she had on occasion seemed more ordinary, especially when talking to Ruby, he was still not confident enough in her personal ability to assist him in a covert war against a terrorist organization.

The constant comments about the two of them from Yang did not help either. She did not need more ammunition.

Finally, there was Blake, the quiet, secretive, Faunus. As Markus had heard, "It's always the quiet ones you need to watch out for." She was quiet, and she had a secret.

The secret of being a Faunus was, from his limited understanding, a strange one to keep. While many Faunus were bullied for their race, she did not seem to be the kind to be targeted by bullies. While she was quiet, even from the first time he had met her, she was self assured enough to put White in her place.

There was no reason to hide that information from her team certainly, unless she didn't trust them. The Lone Courier made sure to keep a close eye on Blake. Secrets were dangerous.

The hypocrisy of this statement was not lost on him.

It took a particularly loud statement from White to jolt Markus back to the present.

"The Vytal Festival! Oh, this is absolutely wonderful!"

He must have been zoned out for nearly twenty minutes. This worried him. His nearly sleepless nights must have been taking a greater toll on him than he realized. While it was not uncommon for him to have long trains of thought analyzing things, much of this one was completely redundant. Virtually everything he had thought about was something he had already analyzed to death. Letting his mind wander for extended periods was a killer for situational awareness.

"I don't think I've ever seen you smile this much, Weiss." said Ruby; she frowned slightly, "It's kinda weirding me out..."

It _was_ strange to see to White so happy about things. He supposed this gave them some rare insight into her personality. Her composure appeared to have melted into genuine sincerity.

"How could you not smile? A festival dedicated to the cultures of the world! There will be dances! Parades! A tournament! Oh, the amount of planning and organization that goes into this event is simply _breathtaking_!"

And apparently the personality she was hiding was an unimaginably boring one.

The Courier wasn't exactly sold on the use of all this planning, organization, and resources. It smacked of bread and circuses. An easy means to distract the masses from the presence of a fanatical terrorist organization that has the potential to start a second race war and the omnipresent threat of genocidal creatures that filled the rest of the world.

Yang sighed, "You really know how to take a good thing and make it sound boring."

"Quiet, you!" said White, trying to sound annoyed, but being too excited to properly pull it off.

The Courier just laughed slightly at that.

The group continued towards the docks. They stopped as multiple foghorns were heard in the distance.

"Remind me again why we're spending our Friday afternoon visiting the stupid docks?" Yang asked.

She was really getting bored.

"Ugh, they smell like fish!" Ruby said, holding her nose.

The smell reminded Markus of Point Lookout. Not a pleasant memory.

The decision to come to the docks seemed to be an appeasement measure towards White as a cranky heiress was a recipe for boundless pain and annoyance. Markus was beginning to feel a bit guilty about suggesting his team accompany RWBY on their little excursion. If he had known it was going to be _this_ tedious, he would have just bitten the bullet and come up with something appropriate for the team to do on his own.

"I've heard that students visiting from Vacuo will be arriving by ship today. And, as a _representative_ of Beacon, I feel as though it is my _solemn_ duty to welcome them to this _fine_ kingdom!" It was clear that _she_ didn't believe a word she said, making it hard for anyone else to.

Pyrrha had remained quiet throughout this exchange while Ren was managing Nora and her questions, which was a fulltime job. Nora seemed to be more excited than White about the arrival of the students but kept her comments to Ren, something that Markus was grateful for. While it was not blatant, there was a feeling of tension between the members of team RWBY that even Pyrrha seemed to be aware of. All of them, except Nora of course, were quieter than usual, subconsciously unsettled by the tension.

As White started to walk away, Blake revealed the heiress' motives.

"She wants to spy on them so she'll have the upper hand in the tournament."

Pyrrha raised an eyebrow at this, while the Courier was mildly annoyed at the pointlessness of the endeavor. However, by some miracle, something interesting happened.

"Whoa," said Ruby, looking to her right.

The group followed her gaze and saw a building with shattered window and a door full of yellow caution tape of the Vale Police Force. They all followed Ruby as she approached the detective at the front.

"What happened here?" she asked.

"Robbery. Second Dust shop to be hit this week," answered the officer, "This place is turning into a jungle."

This was interesting. A robbery in what seemed to be a nice part of town was not terribly common, and the officer's comment seemed to indicate that crime was on the rise.

The detective's partner now spoke. "They left all the money again."

This set off alarm bells in the Courier's mind. There weren't a lot of organizations for whom money was considered irrelevant.

Ruby was confused. "Huh?"

The first detective spoke again. "Yeah, just doesn't make a lick of sense. Who needs that much Dust?"

"I don't know, an army?"

"You thinking the White Fang?"

The first detective's partner removed his sunglasses. "Yeah, I'm thinking we don't get paid enough."

Corruption? Or indifference? The Courier supposed it didn't matter. In either case, Vale's authorities could not be relied upon to act against the White Fang, assuming they were the one's really behind this.

"Hmm! The White Fang." White crossed her arms indignantly. "What an awful bunch of degenerates!"

The Lone Courier felt she was simply stating the obvious. Evidently, Blake disagreed.

"What's _your_ problem?"

" _My_ problem? I simply don't care for the criminally insane."

"The White Fang is hardly a bunch of psychopaths. They're a collection of misguided Faunus."

It was true that people did tend to dehumanize the enemy over the course of a war, and the Snow Dust Company had been at war with the White Fang for long enough for that to happen twice over, however, the difference between being misguided and psychopathy were motivation. Motivation mattered less than the crime. The Legion wasn't made up of psychopaths or the criminally insane. None of that meant they didn't need to die.

"Misguided? They want to wipe Humanity off the face of the planet!"

That was in the end the crux of the matter. The White Fang were very clear in their aims and in the lengths they were willing to go to in order to achieve those aims. They needed to be stopped by any means necessary.

"So then they're _very_ misguided," retorted Blake, "Either way, it doesn't explain why they would rob a Dust shop in the middle of downtown Vale!"

While her argument remained as weak as ever, Blake brought up an interesting point. What motivated this attack?

Ruby gave voice to his thoughts. "Blake's got a point. Besides, the police never caught that Torchwick guy I ran into a few months ago... Maybe it was him."

Torchwick. He would need to remember that name. It was a lead, if a small one.

"That doesn't change the fact that the White Fang are a bunch of scum," White continued, "Those Faunus only know how to lie, cheat, and steal."

Markus's racist alarm went off.

Before he could say anything, Pyrrha responded to White's heated statement.

"Been spending time with CRDL have you?" she said archly.

Before this could escalate further a commotion was heard.

"Hey, stop that Faunus!"

The group rushed towards the sound to see a Faunus with a monkey tail escape from two sailors pursuing him.

"You no-good stowaway!"

The Faunus responded. "Hey, a _no-good_ stowaway would've been caught! I'm a _great_ stowaway."

The initial detective from before threw a stone at the Faunus.

He attempted to make a quick getaway, rushing directly towards the group. While Markus considered stopping the Faunus, he didn't really want to get involved.

As the Faunus disappeared into the distance Yang turned to White.

"Well, Weiss, you wanted to see the competition, and there it goes…"

Weiss responded energetically, deep seated racism apparently forgotten.

"Quick! We have to observe him!"

Before anyone could object, the heiress ran after the Faunus, forcing the rest of the group forced to follow at a similar pace. No one else was remotely pleased by having to humor the antics of the heiress though there was a sense of relief, both at avoiding the imminent argument about race, and in the end to the even more intolerable boredom.

As they rounded a corner, White bumped into someone and tripped as the Faunus disappeared behind a building. Everyone else stopped, relieved that they no longer had to be running at top speed through a city like idiots.

"No, he got away!" said White.

She seemed entirely unaware she had run into someone.

"Uhh...Weiss?," said Yang as she pointed to the girl underneath her teammate. She finally noticed the girl, who had a smile plastered across her face. This unnaturally rigid smile startled White and caused her to jump to her feet.

"Sal-u-ta-tions!" said the altogether far too happy girl.

"Um...hello," said Ruby.

"Are you...okay?" asked Yang, as the girl was still on the ground.

"I'm _wonderful_ **!** Thank you for asking."

The group exchanged glances. Even Nora was totally focused on this new development. Pyrrha shrugged at Yang who spoke again. No one else really wanted to engage with this strange girl.

"Do you...wanna get up?"

The girl appeared to think about this for a moment.

"Yes!"

She leaped to her feet with unusual agility. This girl was the embodiment of uncanny valley. Team RWBY took a step back. MRPN had no need to as they already were far enough from the strange girl that all of them felt comfortable making a retreat with the buffer that they had, should it be necessary.

"My name is Penny! It's a pleasure to meet you!"

"Hi Penny. I'm Ruby"

"I'm Weiss."

"Blake."

"Are you sure you didn't hit your head?" said Yang before Blake elbowed her, "Oh, I'm Yang."

"Markus," he said as neutrally as possible.

"Pyrrha,"

"Ren."

"and Nora!" Nora matched Penny in cheerfulness.

"It's a pleasure to meet you!" Penny said.

"You already said that," said White.

She paused.

"So I did!" Her cheerfulness was becoming increasingly disturbing. And annoying.

"Well, sorry for running into you!"

They all began to walk away, eager to forget the encounter had ever happened. Not the Lone Courier of course. Penny interested him. He had some preliminary suspicions but was unwilling to voice them without conclusive evidence. Her entire demeanor was _off_ in a way that indicated that something was afoot.

"Take care, friend!" yelled Ruby.

When they were far enough away Yang said, "She was... _weird_ …"

Weiss spoke. "Now, where did that Faunus riff-raff run off to?"

Penny suddenly appeared in front of Weiss.

"What did you call me?"

Yang, believing Penny heard her comment apologized.

"Oh, I'm really sorry, I definitely didn't think you heard me!"

"No, not you." She walked through the group and leaned down to Ruby. " _You_ **!** "

" _Me?_ I-I don't know. I, what I, um, uh…"

Ruby squirmed under her unblinking gaze.

"You called me 'friend'! Am I _really_ your _friend_?

"Uuuum…" Ruby looked over Penny's shoulder for advice. Everyone except for Markus, Nora, and Ren were shaking their heads emphatically. Nora was staring at Penny, more interested in her than the conversation. Ren was as quiet as ever, giving little indication as to his opinion on these matters. Markus merely cocked an eyebrow, interested in how this was going to go.

"Y-Yeah, sure! Why not?" said Ruby.

While the Courier was suspicious of this girl and her demeanor, he was actually glad Ruby had chosen to "befriend" her. She didn't seem like she could really do that much harm, and this provided him with a much better opportunity to see what exactly the cause for her abnormal mannerisms were.

Penny, for her part, looked overjoyed at Ruby's acceptance.

"Sen-sational! We can paint our nails, and try on clothes, and talk about cute boys!"

While what she said was highly typical, her delivery remained strange. What she said also sounded more stereotypical than entirely made sense. Her identity was still a question that needed to be answered.

"So...what are you doing in Vale?" asked Yang.

"I'm here to fight in the tournament," declared Penny.

This drew White's attention. "Wait, _you're_ fighting in the tournament?"

Markus supposed she looked as combat capable as any of the members of team RWBY, which was not a difficult feat.

Penny snapped a salute. "I'm combat ready!"

The phrasing was strange as was the salute. Either she was military or, he hoped, mimicking a military salute. If Vale's military was made up of people with the attitude of Penny he feared for this place's national security. As well, she looked far too young to be a soldier of any kind. If she _was,_ well the Courier wasn't too fond of the idea of child soldiers. However, the Courier was in a unique position to verify exactly how "combat ready" Penny was.

Weiss said, "Forgive me, but you hardly look the part."

A totally non-hypocritical statement there.

"Says the girl wearing a dress?" said Blake.

"It's a combat skirt!"

She and Ruby high fived.

The Courier scoffed. Adding the word combat did not add combat value. A skirt was a hindrance in concealment and the material was not bulletproof. To him, it was a very clear sign that none of them took this seriously. It was better they understood that this was a matter of life and death before they had to learn those lessons the hard way. However, it was around then that he received the information that Penny was categorized as a high threat. While Pyrrha was also categorized as such, she was world renowned as a champion fighter. He would need to research Penny to see if she had any similar accolades.

"Wait a minute," said White, "If you're here for the tournament, does that mean you know that monkey-tailed rapscallion?"

 _Rapscallion._ The word, while technically accurate, was archaic. Even more so than dolt. Why did White have such an archaic lexicon?

"The who…?" asked Penny, understandably confused.

"The filthy Faunus from the boat!"

"Why do you keep saying that?!" Blake was (with the Courier's knowledge) understandably angry about this but she seemed incapable of knowing the value of silence when trying to keep a secret.

Weiss was now confused. "Huh?"

"Stop calling him a rapscallion! Stop calling him a degenerate! He's a person!"

Both of them were wrong to a degree. Blake was wrong in that he _was_ in fact a rapscallion, which was something that even the boy in question would not likely dispute. He was also a degenerate depending on one's moral values. White did not say that he was not a person, merely one that made poor life choices.

White of course, was wrong in her prejudice against an entire species. Still, the argument continued, with the rest of the group watching in despair. No one wanted to get involved and everyone wanted it to end.

"Oh, I'm sorry. Would you like me to stop referring to the trash can as a trash can? Or this lamppost as a lamppost?" said White.

"Stop it!" said Blake.

"Stop what? He clearly broke the law. Give him time; he'll probably join up with those other Faunus in the White Fang!"

The was a ridiculous generalization. Petty crime to terrorism was an unusual path to take.

"You ignorant little brat!"

"How dare you talk to me like that! I am your teammate!"

"You are a judgmental little girl."

The Courier couldn't argue with that.

"What in the world makes you say that?"

"The mere fact that you would sort that Faunus boy with a terrorist group solely based on his species makes you just as much of a scoundrel as you believe him to be!"

"Um, I think we should probably go..." said Yang

"Where are we going?" said Penny, still smiling.

"So you admit it! The White Fang is just a radical group of terrorists!"

Regardless of whether the Faunus in the White Fang were misguided or not it did not change the fact that they _were_ terrorists. Blake was consistently wrong on that very crucial point. Given the Courier's very personal experience with the organization, he thus found it difficult to sympathize with her.

"That's not what I meant, and you know it," said Blake.

The argument would continue for the better part of the day. Eventually, even the Courier's sniper's patience would run out.


	34. Chapter 34 - Revelation and Preparation

Chapter 34 - Priorities

It had been over four hours and they showed no signs of stopping. Pyrrha, Yang, Ruby, and even Ren had tried to subtly get them to stop or change the subject. Even now that they were back at Beacon, Blake and Weiss were still making snide comments at one another. While the argument had not been continuous, the hostile feelings were. The entire time, everyone present was exceedingly uncomfortable. Any attempts at addressing other subjects were redirected with astounding efficiency.

At times, they were arguing normally. Then, they would spend vast amounts of time snarking one another. Both parties were clearly biased, though neither without cause, and neither knew how to argue effectively. Most of the argument consisted of generalizations and simple, or more commonly veiled, insults. While debate and argument was often a healthy process through which one could better understand the other point of view, this was not that. They were more hurling words at each other than trying to out-reason the other.

Ultimately, this continued even as they returned to the dorm. The group gravitated to team RWBY's room. Unfortunately, none of team MRPN managed to think of an excuse with which to extricate themselves from the situation and make it entirely team RWBY's problem.

In a transparently desperate attempt to shift the subject, Pyrrha had managed to get a separate conversation going with Yang and Ruby about Penny. It was carried in low voices and it was painfully forced. The palpable tension remained. Both teams were worried about how far this argument would escalate. Yet, no one was confident enough in their peacemaking skills to step forward and actually address the problem head on.

The Courier knew this could not go on forever. Something would have to be done. The only thing was, he hated the idea of getting involved as much as anyone else. Perhaps even more so, considering his imperative to avoid a massive degree of scrutiny. While it would not be a hugely public action, whatever line of reasoning he chose in his intervention, as well as the fact that he chose to intervene at all, would undoubtedly provide at least some level of insight regarding his personality. While that was far from ideal, he was frankly running out of patience.

A substantial part of the problem was that there was no way that anyone could actually win this argument. Both sides were far too emotionally invested side to ever concede the point. This was never anything that even resembled an honest, open minded debate. These were issues that could not be resolved by a reasonable compromise or argument. Simply, neither side was actually looking for a solution. Which made presenting one substantially more difficult.

"I don't understand _why_ this is causing such a problem!" White said.

In a way Blake was responsible for this entire debacle. It could have been avoided had she not decided to keep her species a secret. He supposed that keeping secrets had a price. _Wasn't that a bad sign_. If anyone had dangerous secrets, it was him. For his own sake, he hoped the trend of secrets causing problems stopped here, but he knew better than to expect it.

"That _is_ the problem!" Blake said heatedly.

"You realize you are defending an organization that hates Humanity, don't you?" White asked rhetorically, getting up from her bed, "The Faunus of the White Fang are pure evil!"

Blake now too got to her feet.

"There's no such thing as pure evil! Why do you think they hate Humanity so much? It's because of people like Cardin, people like you, that force the White Fang to take such drastic measures!"

The Lone Courier knew for a fact that Blake was wrong there on several counts. Nothing that White or even Cardin did justified violence. The entire time he was here he had never encountered a single instance of Faunus being killed by humans. Far worse examples of ethnic conflict had been resolved without resorting to terrorism. The only real action he had seen against Faunus was some bullying. The White Fang had killed civilians.

True evil did effectively exist. Whether or not it technically did was a matter of philosophy. While the majority of the White Fang were not psychopaths, they nevertheless chose to join a terrorist organization and were complicit in the act of mass murder. The total destruction of the organization and its members was simply the only option available with which to address the White Fang. It was not a moral judgement, but simply a matter of necessity.

At the moment, Markus was unable to determine whether the White Fang were driven by revenge and blind rage or genuinely believed they were doing the morally correct thing. Either way, it did not overly matter. They were his enemy. They would kill him if they had the chance. In war, it was kill or be killed. And the Lone Courier had no intention of being killed. No matter how righteous his enemies thought their cause was.

"People like me?!" White said.

Markus had almost forgotten that they were still arguing.

"You're discriminatory!" Blake said.

"I'm a victim!" White finally yelled, causing a few moments of blessed silence as she leaned in closer to the other girl.

The tension increased dramatically. The Courier's attention was fixed totally on the actions of Weiss and Blake.

"You want to know why I despise the White Fang? Why I don't particularly trust the Faunus?" White leant against the window,

"It's because they've been in war with my family for years. War, as in actual bloodshed. My grandfather's company has had a target painted across its back for as long as I can remember. And ever since I was a child, I've watched family friends disappear; board members executed. An entire train car full of Dust, stolen. And every day, my father would come home, furious. And that made for a very difficult childhood."

Markus had not realized how similar his assumed identity was. The difference was, her father was running the company. Her statement insinuated that she had very controlling, potentially abusive parents. This further complicated resolving the argument.

White shared the enmity he himself held for the terrorist group, and for similar reasons. However, _she_ was powerless to retaliate. This frustration had been directed towards all Faunus rather than merely the White Fang, making Blake's anger as understandable as White's racism.

Ruby went over to comfort her partner. An admirable attempt, but poorly timed. "Weiss, I-"

"No!" the heiress turned back to Blake, "You want to know why I despise the White Fang? It's because they're a bunch of liars, thieves, and murderers!"

Blake responded instantly. "Well maybe we were just tired of being pushed around!"

There was a second of deathly silence.

To say that this was unexpected would be an understatement. While Markus had suspected something, that a quiet teenager was part of a terrorist organization was something he had not anticipated. Evidently he had seriously underestimated what these presumably sheltered kids were capable of. He supposed he was lucky that his error in judgement had not proved more costly.

After the moment of stunned silence elapsed, Blake rushed out of the room, pushing past the members of both teams in an instant. Markus very nearly stopped her but ultimately decided against it. Physically restraining her would not be an appropriate measure considering the circumstances. He doubted either of the teams would be up for interrogating Blake. Though, he privately doubted that Weiss would object.

"Blake, wait! Come back!" yelled Ruby. Even Ruby, mindlessly optimistic as she was, had little hope that Blake would return.

There were another few seconds of uncertain silence after Blake disappeared. A mix of shock and disbelief filled the room. Everyone looked at everyone else with uncertainty.

"So what now?" asked the Courier, jolting everyone out of their shock.

"I guess we just wait for her to come back?" said Yang.

This even vaguely optimistic sentiment was enough to snap Ruby out of her momentary despondency.

"Yes! We'll wait for her to come back."

"What if she doesn't?" asked the Courier flatly.

"Then we'll find her!" she said, with unwavering confidence.

The Courier saw no need to introduce Ruby to the reality that finding a terrorist who did not want to be found was one of the more difficult tasks one could set himself. It's not as though she would do anything with that information.

The Blake crisis, would have to wait for the time being. His own plans took precedence. All the pieces were in place for his first counterstroke against the White Fang. That Blake was now counted among their number meant little. Perhaps it would be useful later in turning the teams to his advantage, but for the time being, he had his own concerns.

Now, he needed to defer his involvement in this matter and give a convincing excuse to disappear for a while. The former was easier than the latter. For once, maintaining his cover wasn't the most important thing. Despite Markus's better judgement, vengeance took precedence.


	35. Chapter 35 - Koloko Raid

Chapter 35 - The Kolokol Raid

The Lone Courier was on a roof overlooking his target. Currently, he was doing little more than watching and waiting. The target in question was a nondescript warehouse in Vale's shipping district. It was here he knew the hostages were being held. He had personally reconnoitered the place earlier, his stealth suit making it child's play. This was a major hub of terrorist activity. A front owned by White Fang sympathizers owned what was essentially a complex of buildings in this area. From rosters he had found, easily twelve hundred hostiles were stationed here.

It was a matter of fact that the Courier could have accomplished the rescue of the hostages without a shot fired. However, he had no intention of doing so. To quote Joshua Graham before their assault on the White Legs, "Make no mistake. This is an extermination." He would exterminate the White Fang, just as he had the White Legs. As with the White Legs, he would show mercy once they were beaten, but the road to that victory would be littered with bodies.

Markus was no longer wearing his stealth suit. Instead, he was wearing a dragonskin combat outfit. It was a pre-war artifact, specialized for this sort of work, being made of of kevlar, matte black, and holding large amounts of ammunition in bandoliers. It had been used extensively by pre-war special operations and SWAT units. He also wore custom goggles, capable of night-vision, infrared, and seeing the electromagnetic signals that were outputted by both organic and synthetic life. It was the latter of these modes that he was currently using. In addition, wore the respirator he had found in the Divide. While the respirator was stiflingly uncomfortable, it was utterly crucial to his plans.

Fortunately for him, the White Fang had decided to keep the hostages in a room with an exterior facing wall. Had they been concerned about an assault, they would have placed the hostages far from the point of any forced entry. While that would not have stopped the Courier, it would have complicated matters. The relative carelessness with which the terrorists treated the hostages gave the Courier a strong indication that they felt safe at this location. This was supported by the fact that there were very few ways in which the exterior of the building was being watched. There were no guards, though that was unsurprising considering the low profile this base of operations was seeking to maintain, but also few security cameras. The White Fang were clearly not expecting an attack. That expectation was something the Courier would exploit.

At this hour of the night, the majority of the residents of the complex should be sleeping. Despite the ability of Faunus to see in the dark, He had seen the layout of the room that the prisoners were held in during his reconnaissance and committed it to memory. The prisoners were on the ground in the center of the room while guards sat at the two entrances. Despite the number of prisoners the White Fang evidently did not consider them to warrant more than a couple of guards. Clearly no attempt at escape was expected.

Memorizing the position of the guards' electromagnetic signatures, the Courier raised his goggles to rest atop his head and squinted down the scope of his Anti-Materiel Rifle. He exhaled before firing two suppressed rounds from the Hécate II. The high caliber rounds tore holes in the wall at both points of impact allowing the Courier to see the devastation the projectiles had wrought. The guards dropped almost simultaneously with a muffled thud, blood streaming from the gaping holes in their torsos. The Courier vaulted over the ledge that bordered the roof he was on, dematerializing his rifle while falling. He landed with a forward roll to reduce the sound of his impact and materialized his MP5KS while he ran silently towards the wall.

Upon reaching the structure, he materialized thermite cord and attached it to the wall. Already he could hear the shocked screams of some of the prisoners who did not have the presence of mind to stay quiet at the death of their guards. The thermite had been easy to make. An R&D company meant that no one asked questions when acquiring potentially deadly components. The compound burned through the wall in a matter of seconds. Now that his presence was no longer secret, every second mattered. First, he needed to get the hostages out of harm's way. In order to do that, he needed to convince them to cooperate. He spoke loud enough that they could all hear him but in a hushed tone.

"This a rescue. Remain calm and follow all instructions."

The respirator he wore distorted his voice enough that even someone who was familiar with him would be unable to identify him. His voice was naturally deep enough not to betray his youth.

The captives, civilians made meek by the constant threat of death complied easily enough. He gestured towards the newly created hole in the wall and they eagerly seized the opportunity to escape. Markus would have to risk that they were capable of staying alive for the time being. He had made sure that there were no vantage points from which the White Fang could gun down the fleeing hostages.

He walked over to the body of one of the guards and searched his corpse for a scroll. Finding one, he wiped off the blood and other bodily fluids and called emergency services to the scene. The time it would take to arrive would be long enough for him to execute his plan. He materialized and depressed a detonator that was linked to the air conditioning system of the complex. The entire building was quickly being flooded with a fentanyl based incapacitating agent. It was mostly non-lethal. By the time that government forces arrived, they would find large amount of unconscious Faunus and a smaller number of asphyxiated ones. Even the most corrupt of authorities would be forced to arrest obvious members of a known terrorist group.

Despite its effects of inducing unconsciousness, it was not true sleeping gas, as such a thing did not actually exist. The Courier had calculated that this compound would have an excess of a fifteen percent lethality rate. It was for this reason that the hostages had needed to be rescued prior to the distribution of the gas. While the Lone Courier was not morally opposed to a one hundred percent lethality rate that would have occurred in a conventional assault, he felt killing when capturing posed no additional risk was unjustified.

This was all despite his lack of confidence in law enforcement's ability to restrain the White Fang prisoners so that none would escape either in a prison breakout or immediately upon regaining consciousness. Markus also lacked confidence in the legal system. If the courts had been bought out, then it was entirely possible that the terrorists would go free. In any case, he was unwilling to deal death out of fear.

Another reason the Courier had opted against a direct assault was due to the fact that he had determined that there was no way for him to assault the building without being stuck in an firefight. The structure was simply too open. Add this to the fact that Aura made his enemies tediously difficult to kill, and he would have very quickly found himself swarmed. Besides, he wanted to leave no information about the perpetrator of this raid. A prolonged engagement would provide the enemy with ample time to identify him to at least some capacity. As well, it would cede the initiative to the foe by sheer virtue of numbers. This needed to be done quickly, and cleanly.

The Lone Courier retreated after the hostages, planning to return to his vantage point. As he did so however, he felt a strong impact on his back. One of the terrorists that had come in search of the noise had shot him in the back. Even with this specially concentrated form of the gas, incapacitation would take at least sixty seconds. In regards to the bullet, not only did it not penetrate his ballistic armor, it did not hurt as much as it should have. His Aura appeared to be doing something, weak as it was. Markus turned and was forced to empty nearly ten rounds from his weapon into his target before he dropped.

The Lone Courier was beginning to appreciate the potential value of a properly unlocked Aura, even if he had no idea how they worked. A personal forcefield that enhanced his abilities would have considerable tactical value.

Once he had reached his original position on the roof, he returned to using his Anti-Materiel Rifle. He scanned visually for any White Fang that happened to be outside the building and those that were attempting to escape the gas, picking off all he saw with silenced fifty caliber rounds. Even with Aura, the projectile had too much force to withstand. At this range, with this caliber, headshots were a poor idea. Center of mass shots simply tore gaping holes in the torso of the targets, liquefying organs on contact.

Those that did not know the Courier well would be surprised to know that he preferred fighting masked enemies. Despite the fact his inability to read the emotions of his enemies put him at a disadvantage, Markus much preferred seeing a mask rather than a face. He preferred to see a lifeless object rather than the fear or anger held by the face of human. It was much easier to murder people that way.

As he saw the telltale flashing lights in the distance that indicated the authorities were arriving on the scene, he sniped the last of the White Fang outside the building before materializing his detonator once again. He depressed it twice this time, activating the last part of his plan. A massive, multicolored, and multi-(Aristotelian)element, explosion towered into the sky in the shape of a mushroom cloud. As Markus had no means of reacquiring the Dust that was stolen, he had done the next best thing: planted composite four on it. Asset denial. If he could not have a resource then his best move would be to destroy it, to prevent his enemy from using it against him.

So ended the Lone Courier's first battle with the White Fang in his personal war against them. While this satiated his desire for revenge, he had determined the destruction of the organization to be necessary, and would prosecute this aim to the end. As the much clichéd saying went, while the battle was over, the war had just begun. And, as the Lone Courier knew, from the Wastelands of D.C. and the Mojave, to the civilization of Remnant, war...war never changes.


	36. Chapter 36 - Chess For Three

**AN: Kudos to WildWheasel for determining where I (and the LC) got the inspiration for using gas. It was from the Moscow Theatre Siege.** The Chechens, being smarter than the White Fang, held the hostages in a more secure location. The Russians gassed their own hostages (about 800 total) with an estimated 15% lethality rate. They then executed all of the Chechens while they were unconscious. They further refused to share the chemical that was used in the raid leading to furthers deaths including those of foreign nationals. As you can see, I didn't go Russian Spec Ops dark as that would be excessive even for Fallout.

I got the idea from thinking about the rescue plan. Initially, the plan was to flood the room with the hostages in it with sleeping gas in order to pacify them and prevent the risk of them being executed by their guards once the assault began. When I looked up what chemicals were used in sleeping gas I found that it did not exist. The wikipedia page referred to the chemical used in the Moscow theater siege as the closest thing to it. From there I got the idea.

An inconsistency I noticed when writing this chapter is that Blake states that the White Fang were non-violent until five years ago. Weiss on the other hand, states that the have been at war with her family for decades. "War as in actual bloodshed." Just found that interesting.

 **Response to Reviews:**

Lone Gundam: The aerosol used in the Moscow theater siege killed a similar amount of civilians. Its lethality rate was 15%. Mustard gas (used in the First World War) has a 7% lethality rate. The sleeping agent was more than twice as deadly as gas intended to kill

Writen: In which heist do you use gas in Payday?

Chapter 36 - Chess For Three

The RPN of Team MRPN were sitting in their dorm room with a host of questions however two stood above the rest: Where had Blake gone and Where had Markus gone? Blake had disappeared after her accidental revelation group, she had not been seen for a couple of days now. Markus had left not long after, citing family issues. Weiss had translated this to mean company issues, for the team. Weiss knew well the situation of being the heir(ess)apparent of a major corporation. While this answered his absence temporarily, when there was no sign of him for over thirty six hours, his team had begun to worry. Still, they were not worrying about Markus anywhere near as much as they were Blake. As far as they knew, Markus was with his father or somewhere with representatives from Vault-tec. As far as anyone besides Pyrrha knew, his greatest was being bored to death. More significantly, none of them had any idea what had happened to Blake or how exactly to feel that she was (at one point) a member of the White Fang.

There was not much conversation without Markus, not that there was ever much to begin with, but there was now a conspicuous silence. Nora and Pyrrha were the only ones who would initiate a conversation. The word "conversation" in regards to Nora was a bit of a stretch. It was more that others would humor her ideas and suggestions. Ren of course was a quiet as ever and schoolwork was not difficult enough to provide a lengthy distraction. This left Pyrrha with more time to think than she typically had.

She worried about Markus more than the others did. The reasons for this were twofold. Firstly, they were partners and therefore interacted more with each other than their other friends. Secondly, and more prominently, were the vague reasons for which he had said he would not tell her what he was doing and where he went. From those vague hints and clues, it was clear the White Fang was at war with his father's company just as it was with Weiss'. If Markus had been called away due to issues regarding the terrorist organization then there was no telling what danger he was in.

She still worried about how he and Weiss were dealing with the fact that Blake was a Faunus and a member of the White Fang. Finding out that someone you are supposed to trust implicitly was once a member of a terrorist organization that had been at war with your family for decades **and** had lied about her identity, on top of everything else, was a lot to deal with. No one was sure what to expect in the way of reactions from either of the Ice Heirs, Markus especially.

From what he had described on the roof, his life was almost constantly under threat. That alone was more than enough to make her worry for his safety. While Pyrrha understood his reasons for not wanting her to be mired in a war that was not hers, she was determined to help him. It was her job as his partner after all.

Of course, she had no idea how to go about this. Her total lack of social skills caused by her prior inability to interact with anyone who viewed her as a peer. Markus regarded her in the same way he did anyone else and viewed her as a person rather than an idealized image. She was not keen to estrange him by being too persistent in trying to pry into his personal issues that he felt she should leave alone for her own safety. However, her own safety was something Pyrrha quite often disregarded. Therefore, she sat staring out the window at the now full moon late into the night, contemplating the secrets of her partner and how best to coax an answer from him.

Ozpin sat in his office, late at night, staring at his scroll pensively. The events of teams RWBY's combat at the the docks are displayed live on the device. He closed it, having see all he needed before opening communications with Qrow. There was a message. "QUEEN HAS PAWNS."

The headmaster hmmed at this before opening another live feed. This one was an overhead view of a warehouse at a different part of the docks, near where RWBY's battle had taken place. Now, police and other emergency vehicles swarmed the area. Both police and medical Bullheads hovered. Hundreds of White Fang were lead or carried out in handcuffs. Others left in body bags.

He swiped to a news channel. The volume muted, he read the headline. "Gas attack on White Fang by Unknown Party." So far there were one hundred and seventy three Faunus dead. The death toll was expected to rise. Kidnapping victims that were held there were rescued prior to the chemical attack. Evidently, while the perpetrator had no qualms about killing he/she has morals about civilians. No further information was available through public channels. He opened communications with Qrow again.

"THIRD CHAIR FILLED" he sent. This development complicated things. While this had resulted in a major base of White Fang operations being limited, it meant there was a third player in the game. This was an event that was truly unanticipated. And it would change a lot.

Roman Torchwick walked into a large warehouse with a poorly lit interior. This was the backup headquarters. Apparently the primary had been gassed while he was away. The entire goddamn operation was in shambles. It was pure luck he hadn't been at the HQ himself; the decision to oversee the raid himself was a last minute thing. He really had not expected to meet any opposition. All the skill in the world was useless if you were gassed. Still, those animals were expendable, virtual cannon fodder. They were however, useful cannon fodder which had just been wasted. So, this was scant consolation to him as he crossed the warehouse. He placed down a briefcase on a small table, well lit in contrast to the rest of the interior. "Well," he thought," at least this day can't possibly get any worse." But of course, it did.

"How very disappointing, Roman."

Roman turned around quickly upon hearing the voice.

"Whoa! Hehe... I wasn't expecting to see you guys so soon..." That was a weak lie. After a catastrophe this large, the arrival of the higher ups was hardly unexpected. At least this wasn't his fault. Of course, it didn't matter whose fault it was, only whose Cinder thought it was.

Cinder and two figures flanking her step out of the shadow.

"While we had low expectations for you, we did not anticipate this," she struggled slightly to articulate her feelings, "utter disaster." Her voice was still unnervingly smooth throughout her speech.

Roman laughed slightly before getting serious. "Hey! You were the ones who suggested working with those stupid mutts from the White Fang. And it's not my fault that they managed to get themselves gassed."

" _We_ will investigate that incident. Personally. The involvement of another faction will not be anything more than a minor hinderance. Still, your performance at the docks was...less than satisfactory." She summoned a fireball in her hand and smiled sinisterly.

"We have big plans for you, Roman. All we ask is... a little cooperation." This did not comfort Roman.


	37. Chapter 37 - Casus Bellum

Chapter 37 - Casus Bellum

Markus returned to Beacon in the early hours of the morning, long before anyone would be awake. Dawn was breaking and part of the shattered moon was still faintly visible behind in the rapidly lightening sky. Now that he no longer a personal score to settle, the late nights were catching up to him. No longer on a timer, he was keen to get some rest. With the late hours he had spent preparing combined with the fact that he had not slept for nearly twenty four hours meant he was supremely sleep deprived. It would take a few days for him to feel normal again.

As he had been using the stealth suit, none of the members of his team stood a ghost of a chance at discovering his return. After downing a bottle of scotch, he fell into his bed soundlessly, as he attempted to salvage as many hours of sleep as he could.

Markus awoke far later in the morning in a much better mood. He could not remember his dreams other than flashes of vivid nonsensical images. On a whole, it was a dramatic improvement from his usual fare. He got up with a stifled yawn, reveling in the feeling of both being rested and having the weight of the hostages' lives off his shoulders. Immediately after the raid in which the hostages were captured, he had taken reactionary precautions in order to both deter the White Fang and prevent their acquisition of hostages. A terrorist organization having leverage over him was something that could have disastrous consequences and was therefore no something he could risk.

The Lone Courier got up from the bed to see the rest of his teammates staring at him inquisitively. He had forgotten this part. They would quite reasonably expect something in the way of an explanation. Unsurprisingly, it was Pyrrha who broke the momentary silence.

"So… where have you been?"

Markus noted that she sounded a bit unsure of herself. Given that, he concluded that so long as he delivered a plausible answer with confidence, he would not be questioned further.

"As I said before leaving, my father called me away while giving no explanation. He is chronically ill so this was not entirely unusual."

The idea of having his "father" be chronically sick was working better than he had anticipated. It was far more useful than its initial purpose intended it to be. It would also make people guilty about prying as inquiring about one's terminally ill father was typically considered poor etiquette.

Markus continued after a moment's pause.

"This summons however, was not due to my father's failing health. Apparently my father has had the company start on large scale manufacturing instead of R&D. This manufacturing required large amounts of Dust. Naturally, this was sourced from Schnee Dust Company. While the White Fang have always been hostile towards Vault-tec they have now effectively declared war. While my father was briefing me on this, an ongoing hostage situation was resolved by a third party, the aftermath of which is responsible for my late return."

This explanation, while long winded, provided a lot of information that could explain his absence without really changing anything. None of the lies were actually relevant to his team and everything he claimed was unverifiable. Hopefully, this should deflect as much suspicion as possible. The verbose nature of the persona he was using also helped, no matter how pretentious he sounded to himself.

"Third party?" asked Ren in his typically laconic fashion.

"The hostages were rescued by unknown faction. Not Vault-tec and not the authorities."

Further discussion was prevented by the imminent need to get to class. An unintended consequence of the Courier maximizing the amount of sleep he got was the limited time it left for questions. In any case, the Courier felt he had answered all the questions he could be expected to know the answer to.

The consequences of the weekend further revealed themselves at lunch. Team RWBY was now able to explain the events of the previous couple of days on their end.

"So, tell us what happened," Markus said to Ruby, who eagerly launched into the events of the previous day.

"So Blake is a Faunus and has these really cute cat ears, and after she ran away she and the Faunus from the boat-who's actually named Sun and is really nice-spied on the White Fang and found out that they were working with Roman Torchwick and they got into a fight and Penny and I found them and Penny did some really cool things with her swords and wires but Roman got away and Weiss and Blake are friends now."

This was all said in a single breath with her words getting progressively faster and slightly higher in pitch as it went on. Markus had to a couple seconds to process this, repeating the words in his head until he could make sense of them. He had already known that Blake was a Faunus. The Faunus from the boat was named Sun, and was apparently now friends with Blake. The Courier resolved to find out exactly who he was and whether he posed any threat, either directly or indirectly.

That Blake spied on and actively fought against the White Fang indicated quite firmly that she was no longer affiliated. While spying on them alone would not be enough to rule out her being a mole or deep-cover agent, actively fighting them ruled it out. Instructing a deep-cover agent to actively fight against the White Fang in order to gain the trust of the organization she is embedded with would be a move of such subtlety and Machiavellianism that he put it past the capabilities of the White Fang. As far as he could tell, they were ideologically motivated thugs, largely devoid of the cunning needed to pull of actual covert operations. Smash and grab jobs appeared to be the height of their subtlety. Besides, there was hardly any strategic value for having a spy inside a school.

Markus was aware that this was an ironic statement, considering he himself was effectively a spy inside the school. However his motivations were essentially academic. He supposed it would be most accurate to describe himself as a student attending under false pretenses than a spy.

There was one other aspect that caught his attention: Roman Torchwick. _Roman Torchwick_ , he remembered that name. Ah! It was from the airship to Beacon, seemingly an eternity ago. Roman had been on the news and was, quite distinctly, human.

"Why would the White Fang work with a human?" he voiced.

It was Blake who answered.

"I asked him the same thing, he said it was a 'business arrangement'"

The Courier, rather uncharacteristically, voiced his thoughts aloud.

"That doesn't make sense, why would the White Fang work with someone that was part of a group that they have clearly stated they want to exterminate?"

This time Yang spoke.

"It doesn't make sense to any of us either, and they didn't give us much in the way of an explanation."

The thing was, it did make some sense to the Courier, at the very least in the sense he could rationalize it. Roman must have something that the White Fang wanted desperately in order to get them to work with him. In return, when the White Fang's New World Order comes into effect Roman will be rewarded. Of course, it was far more likely that Roman, not being a fanatic, planned to simply betray the White Fang whenever it was convenient for him to do so. Both sides believed each had the upper hand over the other.

"Did you hear about the attack on the White Fang base?" asked Yang, "It happened last night, at the same time we were there, also at the docks."

"Why didn't we hear anything?" asked Ruby.

The Courier knew the answer to that question, and his team knew that he did. Nevertheless, he said nothing. He wanted to see who would speak if he didn't. As it happened, it was Weiss.

"The attacker used an unknown chemical agent to incapacitate the entire base in a matter of minutes. Police arrived to find about one hundred and eighty White Fang members dead, the rest unconscious. A further twenty have died from complications resulting from the chemical since. This is the first retaliation by a non-official entity against the White Fang. Public opinion has been mixed." This was partially her own words and partly read from a news article on her Scroll.

The Lone Courier could already see the argument that was brewing. He would need to find a way to either avert the conflict or act as damage control.


	38. Chapter 38 - Lend Me Your Ears

Chapter 38 - Heavy Handed

Markus knew what was coming, and he knew the difficulty inherent in his task. He would need to influence the conversation to cause all parties to arrive at the same conclusion he had if he hoped to have any allies at all. As much as he dreaded it, he acknowledged that a discussion on when use of deadly force was justified was always going to happen sooner or later. If he was going to be working with these kids for extended amount of time, he would have to do his best to ensure they were mentally prepared for war.

"Why did you say public opinion mixed?" asked Ruby.

"Some people support the use of deadly force against terrorists," supplied Markus.

He had tried to phrase that as diplomatically as possible, but the meaning of the sentence could only be softened so much.

"Just because the White Fang are criminals doesn't mean their lives don't matter," said Blake hotly.

Well, there went his best chance at avoiding this conversation. Blake was already up in arms about this. Weiss however, was doing anything but helping.

"I find it a bit hard to feel bad for people who would gladly kill me," she said archly.

While she did have a point, the very sound of her voice did her no favors. Despite the fact that she was justified in her sentiments, her self evident lack of empathy did her no favors. The Courier could see that supporting her in this argument was a sure path to failure.

"The Faunus of the White Fang aren't pure evil. They're just wrong. They don't deserve to die for being misguided!"

Blake was far too passionate about this to back down. She harbored surprisingly favorably sentiments towards a group that would put her blindfolded up against a wall just as eagerly as it would White.

Everyone else was quite wisely attempting to stay out of it now that those two were going at it again. Evidently the reconciliation they had had was one of affiliations and not ideals. The Courier wasn't exactly surprised. A lifetime of prejudice was not overcome in a matter of hours.

"Really, you of all people should know what they've done. Murderers deserve everything they get."

Funny how this had boiled down to the age-old capital punishment debate. While popular pre-war, practicality made it virtually forgotten in the post-apocalypse. It was not a question of morality but ability. Even the NCR lacked a robust court system that would be required for the administration of justice. Safety took priority when building a civilization. Keeping murderers locked up for the long term was both risky and a drain on resources that could be better spent on better people.

Ultimately, this was not an argument the Courier wanted to have. He had exactly one idea more chance of averting this, but after that, he was out of ideas, reasonable ones in any case.

Interrupting both of them, he said, "Stop arguing. Neither of you will convince the other, so **stop wasting everyone's time.** "

His voice was a mix of bored and dismissive. Hopefully it would instill some sense of awareness at the futility of this argument into the two girls. Both his words and his tone were partially designed to achieve a specific goal and partially an accurate reflection of Markus's actually sentiments.

"I would except _somebody_ is trying to justify the murder of two hundred Faunus!"

"Well, I'm sorry that I don't feel sympathy when _murderers_ are murdered!"

"Don't you see how this plays into what the White Fang say about humans?"

"Stop acting like an attack on a terrorist group is a hate crime!"

Well, he had tried. Out of ideas, he now needed to find new ones because this argument was still going on and-quite frankly-it was intolerable. On a list of annoying things, an argument between two people that weren't going to change their minds was up there with nails on a chalkboard and he had spent all his patience days ago. There was no way for him to intervene without actually becoming involved, something he had balked at doing previously for obvious reasons. Now, however, he did not really care anymore; he just wanted this to be over. At this point, the Courier was willing to take measures as drastic as necessary to resolve this, no matter how many bridges he would risk burning.

"Alea iacta est," he murmured. Quoting latin phrases was a rather annoying habit he had picked up from Arcade. No turning back now. He was going to have to do this.

"How about instead of spending the next twelve hours arguing, we establish some basic facts and move on with our lives?" While the sentence had an inquisitive inflection, the biting tone left no doubt that it was rhetorical.

There was a brief moment of silence. In contrast to his usual stilted eloquence and frequent silence, the stark change in attitude was enough to gain the immediate attention of everyone present, even Blake and Weiss. Ordinarily, the Courier would not have spoken quite so authoritatively, but he knew for a fact that any attempt to save the group from this fresh hell would have the instant support of the silent majority. Nevertheless, the Courier took a more conciliatory tone for his next question.

"Blake, is it accurate to say that the White Fang consider humanity the enemy?"

Blake hesitated. Both teams looked at her. There was a sudden tension in the air.

The Courier had calculated this question. Everyone knew the answer, but making Blake say it, and framing it as an admission, was crucial to weakening Blake's confidence in her self-righteousness. Markus also maintained unwavering eye contact with her as he awaited her answer. This was mostly due to the fact that everyone was waiting for the next movement. And he had a very good idea of what he wanted the next move to be, and he certainly wasn't going to be the one making it. The Courier was approaching the initial portion of his intervention with the characteristics almost of a cross examination. While this was risky, due to its slightly combative nature, it was a crucial step in his eventual consensus building.

Finally, Blakes eyes dropped and her whole demeanor took an almost defeated posture.

"It didn't used to be," she said quietly.

The question had been worded in such a way that Blake had no easy way out. Even this indirect answer left little room for sympathy with the White Fang. The implied admission that the White Fang considered all of humanity its enemy was probably enough. But the Courier nevertheless pressed the issue, though with a different approach.

"But it is now," he said softly.

Blake nodded.

There it was, what he was looking for: a direct answer. With this admission from Blake, he could maneuver the conversation into a position whereby she would hopefully be convinced that deadly force was justified against someone who was using it against you.

The Courier now addressed both teams, rather than Blake specifically. He made sure to meet all their eyes. Most of them looked worried and conflicted. None of them were sure how to feel, but they were all more concerned about stopping this fight between Blake and Weiss before it got out of hand. One emotion he hadn't expected to be able to find was hope. Nevertheless, it was there, mainly in the childlike gaze of Ruby. Hope that he could resolve this. The Courier had forgotten what dealing with an irrepressible optimist was like. He hoped her faith wasn't misplaced.

"It can be said that the White Fang have declared war on humanity. Despite the fact the White Fang want us all dead, it would be a mistake to assume that the White Fang is a group composed entirely of the criminally insane."

The Lone Courier spoke these "facts" flatly, rather than authoritatively. He was not trying to convince them, but rather establish common ground. His aim was not to tell them what to believe, but rather lead them to the conclusion that he wanted them to draw.

"Of course, there are obviously some real psychopaths in the White Fang, but for the most part, they're people who have been deceived. People convinced that _we're_ evil. Most of them are operating under false assumptions. The vast majority of the White Fang are mislead."

The Courier had subtly transitioned to a less factual and more persuasive tone. At this point, the dominant emotion of his audience was confusion, especially from Blake and White. No one quite understood where he was going with this.

"But," the Courier raised a finger, "if someone is trying to kill you, does it make any difference if they're evil or just mislead?"

The Courier leaned back a bit, appearing to relax slightly. This was, of course, a calculated move. By asking a question-and not providing an answer-he had avoided the impression that he was trying to convince them of anything. The question hung in the air. The Courier watched each of them very closely, seeing if any of them would actually try to answer the question. He didn't expect any of them to, considering the fact moral questions normally take more than a moment's thought and he had no intention of giving them long enough to actually formulate a proper response.

"In any case," said the Courier with a dismissive wave of his hand, "this argument is pointless. Blake is sympathetic to the cause of the White Fang for deeply ingrained and obvious reasons. Weiss is hostile for equally obvious and equally personal reasons. Both of you are too invested in the subject for the other to change their mind. In regards to the raid, it gets even more complicated. The attacker, or attackers, rescued hostages. None of the hostages were at all exposed to the chemical agent." He paused for dramatic effect. "This was not just a raid. It was a rescue."

There was another pause while this information was digested.

"Who do you think did it?" said Ruby excitedly.

Ruby's unusually upbeat question about speculating on the identity of the perpetrator of a brutal raid did very successfully change the topic of conversation. Now that the conversation had taken an entirely different tone, he could consider his involvement finished.

One thing that Markus had done that he could not be entirely sure the consequences of was bring up the possibility that deadly force could be justified, even against people that weren't evil. He was almost certain that the question would stick with all of them. Whether they would agree with or reject that idea he did not yet know.

Either way, the two girls were no longer arguing. Markus smiled internally, though he maintained an outward deadpan. Mission accomplished.


	39. Chapter 39 - Research and Development

Chapter 39 - Research and Development

Following his raid on the White Fang, Markus had virtually given up making any progress on matters of interest while at Beacon. The lack of privacy made clandestine activities difficult. Even if he his stealth suit afforded him the ability to slip away whenever he wished, his absence and subsequent tiredness was noted by all.

It was because of this that he was forced to take things slowly. This was something alien enough to him to cause his baseless anxiety. For once, he was not on a timer. There was no impending doom that needed to be avoided. No Enclave with the purifier, no Legion across the river. Nevertheless, his perceived inaction was something he was highly uncomfortable with but there was no sense in blowing his cover in favor of ultimately unneeded haste.

Somewhat counterintuitively, he was also in no great hurry to return to the Wasteland. While there were things he could help with there, the NCR and Brotherhood should have it well in hand. The Lone Courier was beginning to develop a tentative idea that if he could alleviate the pressure of the White Fang and Grimm on the societies of Remnant he could reveal the plight of North America to them and convince them to aid in the reconstruction of society. Even though these "kingdoms" had relatively small populations in comparison to Old World nations, their resources and expertise would be invaluable in the rebuilding of the world.

Still, that did not mean that Markus was not trying to fix the Transportalponder. There were too many mysteries here that could not be solved by logic or his existing knowledge of the universe. These phenomena would need to be observed in laboratory conditions to be understood. The Think Tank were his best bet if he wanted the information needed to fully exploit the properties of Aura and Dust. He would remain where he was for the time being, but he wanted to be able to move back and forth freely.

It was because of this that the Courier was supremely grateful when he found that there would be a two week break between semesters. Not enough time to do everything he wanted, but enough to set things in motion.

Back in his rented apartment in Vale, he analyzed the condition of the Transportalponder further. Thankfully, the actual mechanism that created the portal appeared to be intact. He did not understand the mechanics the Think Tank had based their particular brand of teleportation on well enough to engineer another one. A key circuit board however, appeared to be fried. All parts were present and recognizable.

Having an idea, the Courier detached the fried piece from the rest of the shell carefully, and digitized it. He then searched through the files in his Pip-boy for the 3D schematics of the board. Markus spent the next few days separating all the components in the file that would need to be manufactured separately.

He then sent schematics of each of the individual parts to a different location to be manufactured. These would all be shipped to a warehouse which would ship them here. Different contractors from as diverse locations and backgrounds as were feasible would be used for each of these steps. Each was meticulously researched before being approved to contract the manufacturing job. By nature these were companies regularly used for military technology and would hopefully not be unused to secrecy. In any case, the decentralized manufacturing should keep the complete designs out of anyone's hands. This would ensure that no one knew how to make this piece of technology. While it may not have been useful on its own, the Courier was entirely unwilling to allow any uncontrolled leak of information.

The most significant drawback was the fact that he had no means to have the part shipped to Beacon. Despite this, and the sleep he had lost researching dozens of firms, the Courier was broadly satisfied with the progress he had made on this issue.

Now, he went on to examine the progress of the project he had initialized remotely. The manufacturing of the first order of supersonic and hollowpoint Dust rounds was complete. He authorized the shipping of them. One small crate full on various kinds was set to arrive at his residence with strict orders (and bribes) not to open it. While ordering ammunition was _probably_ fine in this society, he wasn't chancing it. While he waited for the product to hit the market, he started his next project.

The Lone Courier had found a plethora of blueprints for experimental and prototype ballistic weapons in a USSOCOM research facility. While most were never utilized en masse due to the focus in research moving towards energy weapons, they were still deadly and effective. The Courier had assembled many of these himself. The primary reason was that energy weapons, while quieter than most guns, couldn't be silenced. Even worse, they acted like constant tracers, and tracers work both ways. One shot from a laser rifle and everyone for a mile knows where you are. The Courier did make substantial use of energy weapons, especially in situations of open combat, but given his preference for quiet solutions, ballistic weapons were the workhorse of his arsenal. Moreover, in Remnant he could not use energy weapons for obvious reasons. Therefore, he set about looking for something to suit his new needs.

The size of the Grimm he had encountered during initiation was a source of great concern to Markus. The fact was, the anti-materiel rifle, the most powerful weapon he was capable of overtly using, had done (comparatively) very little damage to the creatures. His other weapons were nearly useless against them. That battle might have gone a lot worse had the terrain been not as advantageous. So, the Lone Wanderer once again searched through the documents he had on various prototype weapons for something that might do the job better.

As it turned out, that weapon was the Barrett XM109. It was the highest caliber prototype he could find. It was classified as an objective sniper weapon and commonly known as the Payload Rifle. It fired 25 × 59 mm high velocity grenade rounds and-in testing conditions-was capable of eliminating light armor at a range of two thousand meters. This was the perfect weapon for the situation.

Over the next few days he worked eagerly, ignoring his fatigue, at changing the schematic into harmless parts that could be sent for manufacturing. He took extra care that no one would be able to recreate this. The measures he had used to ensure the secrecy of the chip were strengthened by hush money. He could not risk this getting out. Someone with one of these could take out an entire Brotherhood of Steel chapter.

The manufacturing of weapon parts would be finished much sooner than the more intricate electronics that he need to fix the Transportalponder. He should be able to get the weapon before he would have to return to Beacon.

It had been a few days since he had shipped the new ammunition types. The reverse engineering of the objects he wanted manufactured and his commitment to total secrecy cost him a significant amount of time. Now, he was looking at the results of his attempt to break into the ammunition market of Remnant. Sales were largely as predicted. The hollow point rounds had been marketed towards law enforcement and sales performed well in that sector. A few supersonic rounds had bought by the military (presumably for testing purposes) but the majority were purchased by retailers. While the release of these innovations did make the news, it wasn't frontpage/headline grade. New kinds of ammunition were not sensationalist enough for the media. Still, now the important people knew the name "Vault-tec". Not the general public, but people in the political, economic, and military sectors were now likely aware of his company's presence.

Notably the ammunition seemed to have made at least some stir in the weapon enthusiast community for the novelty of supersonic rounds more than anything else. The phrase "supersonic" apparently made the product interesting enough within that niche to warrant attention. It was not something that the Courier had really thought much about. He supposed it didn't matter much, but had the benefit of ensuring Vault Tec had some sort of name recognition in even a small sector of the general public.

Now, the Lone Courier had done as much as he felt he was going to do during this break. There weren't that many days left and moreover he had no idea of what he needed to do. Therefore, he set about doing the only thing he could think of, hacking the White Fang, albeit at a more casual pace. While he had no intention of defeating the White Fang by killing literally the entire membership of the organization, knowledge of the location of their bases of operation would be invaluable. For now he settled with arresting their plans and preventing attacks. It was simply not feasible to attempt to kill a minimum of several thousand guerrillas all by himself while simultaneously attending Beacon. Unfortunately, what the Courier had found upon breaching the numerous platforms used by the White Fang to communicate was anything but good news. The initial hack had caused the reaction of widespread paranoia of further breaches. As such, it had been decided that virtually all levels of communication were to low tech in order to avoid leaks. While this meant that the White Fang quite likely now had a literal paper trail, something terrible for their operational security, the fact that the Courier was spending most of his time at Beacon, combined with his little knowledge of the operational trends of the White Fang meant that he was unable to exploit this.

The Courier was faced with the frustrating reality that his chosen target was temporarily beyond his reach. So long as he intended to attend Beacon, he could not effectively pursue the White Fang. And for numerous reasons, he was unwilling to leave the school to devote himself entirely to the destruction of the White Fang. He would content himself with making every effort he could from Beacon.

Unsatisfied but resigned to stagnation on that front, the Courier moved to setting up some of the more ancillary but still important aspects of life outside of Beacon that he had neglected.

The first thing he did was go shopping. This was something he had never really done in the conventional sense but, as it turned out, shopping for clothes was little different than shopping for weapons. While the Courier was accustomed to wearing the same thing for long periods, he was aware that in a fully functioning society that was considered at the very least odd. Especially considering his assumed place in said society. Benny's suit, Beacon uniforms, and various kinds of armor were not sufficient for interacting in wider civilian society.

To this end, he resolved to acquire several more suits, with most being at least a little more understated than the rather garish checkered pattern of Benny's Suit. As well, he would need some more "ordinary" clothes. Dressing formally brought attention, and should he need to avoid recognition, have clothes atypical of his usual wear would be helpful.

This effort by the Courier also revealed a weakness in his current logistical capabilities: he was forced to either walk or rely on public transportation. While he could of course acquire a vehicle with little difficulty, the fact was that he lacked the license needed to operate one. Getting one would not be terribly difficult, even were he to go entirely through the proper channels, however it would require a relatively large investment of time. The fact that he needed a physical object was where the primary difficulty lay. It was because of this that the Courier chose the perceived path of least resistance. Vault-Tec was about to get its first proper employee.


	40. Chapter 40 - Social Obligations

Chapter 40 - The True Burden of Leadership

From the Courier's relatively limited understanding of upper class society, having a driver was a common symbol of status. In his case, a driver was doubly useful, being-apart from the suit he had taken from a dead man-something that would materially support his story. Actual people would need to be involved in Vault-Tec sooner or later in a far more direct manner than he had previously utilized if it was to exist anywhere other than on paper. A driver would be a highly visible employee, something that would passively reinforce the existence of his company in the mind of anyone who met him.

Nevertheless, the first order of business was acquiring a vehicle that the driver would be driving. The first instinct of the Courier was to get whatever this place's nearest equivalent to an MRAP was. He knew ambushing vehicles carrying VIPs was a standard tactic in the playbook of terrorists. Given that he had just kicked the proverbial hornets nest then spat on it for good measure, reprisals against him from the White Fang were not unlikely. He did not want to die at the hands of some amateurs who had managed to get their hands on a mine. More importantly, he did not want to put his driver in that kind of danger. He was not putting civilians into the line of fire if he could help it.

But that brought up a better question. Why should his driver be a civilian? With the kind of pay he was willing to offer, he was confident he could get someone with at least some degree of combat experience.

This was also crucial due to the fact that the Courier doubted he could realistically justify acquiring and utilizing an MRAP-or Remnant's equivalent-no matter how much he bigged up the threat the White Fang supposedly posed to his family. He would need something more understated in its paranoia. Similarly, he would need something a bit more obvious in its wealth. He needed create as much of an indication as possible that this company existed and he came from a background of privilege rather than a literal hole in the ground.

As it turned out, the Courier did strike at least one lucky break. It seemed that he was not unique in his paranoia, or at the very least, less unique than he had expected, especially on Remnant. It appeared that there was already a market for luxury vehicles with no small amount of armor. The White Fang's history of assassinations and attacks targeting officials and high ranking employees of the SDC had led to there being a sufficient demand for armored status symbols to allow the Courier to acquire one without having to armor it himself.

While that was one stroke of luck, the matter of a driver still required resolution, and would likely be less easy than the rather straightforward process of acquiring a product sold on the open market.

While the Courier knew that there were means by which he could delegate the search for a driver, however considering the amount of trust requisite to the position, he did not believe the convenience of delegating the task was worth the cost of security.

Therefore the Courier began the tedious process of individually screening candidates for the coveted position of occasionally driving him from one place to another. His requirements were not particularly stringent. The problem was that the qualities he searched for were not commonly enumerated on a resume. Combat experience was easily found. The larger issue was that the Courier insisted on conducting background checks on any promising candidates. The primary characteristic he searched for was a lack of connection with organized crime and the White Fang.

If the Courier only had to account for the White Fang, he would have felt safe with any human driver that could handle themselves in a tight spot. But the fact that the White Fang was willing to work with humans meant that this would not be enough. Therefore what the Courier was reallylooking for were candidates that would never betray him to the White Fang. Candidates that had a history that meant no matter what they were offered, they would never deal with the organization. The Courier was looking for someone who hated the White Fang.

Unfortunately, that was something people rarely put on their CV's.

It was because of this that the Courier was reduced to individually vetting each of the candidates by looking into their personal histories through every legal means available to him on Remnant's "net." What he was looking for was someone that had something personal against the White Fang, something that would make them unshakably opposed. By nature, this particular cross section was highly narrow. This did not perturb the Courier. If there was one thing he was uncompromising on, it was his paranoia. Therefore it was only a couple of twenty hour days later that the Courier believed he had found someone suitable.

Her name was Jennifer Albiona. From Atlas, and had attended combat academies for a number of years. She wasn't exactly the ideal candidate, from the Courier's point of view. That she was only a few years older than he was meant that her actual combat experience was likely to be limited. However, the Courier couldn't afford to be more picky than he already was. The fact that her parents had been killed only a few years ago by the White Fang was something Markus was uncomfortable with admitting made her an ideal candidate as far as security went.

How she had ended up as a driver, despite a promising early career in combat schools seemed to be related to the deaths of her parents. All academic information he could find on her ended in the same year. The Courier wasn't exactly surprised. Tragedy frequently derailed lives.

Well, the Courier supposed it would do. He wouldn't be making that much use of a driver in any case. All that was left was to make the call.

The next event of note was the delivery of the XM109. All the parts arrived on the same day, a mere two days before the new term started. Markus had been starting to worry that it would not arrive before he needed to leave. Putting it together took a little while. Even with his knowledge of weapons, weapon assembly was always difficult without practice.

He had ordered large amounts of 25mm dust rounds of all types. The Lone Courier had found no information on the commonality of large Grimm and thusly felt the need to prepare for engaging large numbers of them if necessary. To be honest, he did not really expect to use the XM109 frequently as most of his conflict would likely be with the White Fang, who were inherently softer targets. .308 would be sufficient from a high powered rifle. The Barrett was for harder targets such as ginormous Grimm if they came in greater numbers. He did not want to have to resort to Gauss rifles and Mini-Nukes. There was no way that he could use those without blowing his cover.

The break from Beacon was over sooner than he would have liked. Markus had not had the opportunity to act against the White Fang further. Frustrating the plans of the enemy was crucial to the art of war. Inaction meant losing the initiative. Still, he was pleased with his progress. He had set everything he needed in motion. All that was currently required was that for him to wait.

He had returned to Beacon one day before classes started in order to give himself some leeway in case things had happened. He was not expecting anything specific to happen, but nevertheless ensured he would have the upper hand if anything did happen.

Upon returning, the Courier found that Ren and Nora had not left Beacon during the break and that Pyrrha returned only shortly after he did. Everything was going very much as Markus had hoped it would go. Until lunch, that was.

They were sitting with team RWBY as always, with each team on one side of the table. Yan was catching grapes with her mouth that Nora flung joyfully at her with a spoon.

"Whatcha doing?" the blonde asked her partner.

"Nothing." Blake closed a book she had been absorbed in. "Just going over notes from last semester."

Yang caught another grape in her mouth. "Lame."

Out of seemingly nowhere, Ruby appeared, holding a massive binder. The Courier was certain she used her semblance to get around. Speaking of which, it disconcerted him just how fast she was. The speeds she was reaching were inexplicably high. While his initial inclination was to have the Brains examine her Semblance at some point, he realized he could not do so without risking her lobotomization.

His thoughts were interrupted by the enormous slam of Ruby dropping the binder onto the table. On the cover "Vytal Festival Activities, Property of Weiss Schnee" was crossed out with a red pen, a new title, "Best Day Ever Activities," was written underneath. Ruby cleared her throat.

She then proceed to give a speech that had far too many references to things that the people of Remnant evidently had no knowledge of. There were allusions to everything from Shakespeare to presidential speeches. He supposed that the lies Remnant was based upon might have incorporated the truth for believability. Still, he did not know why (presumably) Vault-tec had decided to change/obscure history.

"What are you talking about?" asked an understandably confused Blake.

"I'm talking about kicking off the semester with a bang!"

"I always kick my semesters off with a _Yang!_ Eh? Guys? Am I right?"

Nora booed and threw an apple at Yang that hit her squarely in the face. Ruby ignored the pun and continued.

"Look guys, it's been a good two weeks and between more exchange students arriving and the tournament at the end of the year, our second semester is going to be great! But, classes start back up tomorrow! Which is why I've taken the time to schedule a series of wonderful events for us today."

"I don't know whether to be proud or scared of what you have in store," said White.

" _Scared,"_ thought Markus _,"You should be very afraid."_ Hyperactive children were not famed for making the best of plans. Yang picked up an apple and threw it across the room. It hit an unknown person. Nora giggled.

"I don't know," said Blake, "I think I might just sit this one out."

"Sit out or not, I think that however we spend this last day, we should do it as a team!" said White.

" _I_ got it!" shouted Nora in affirmation.

"I for one think that.." Weiss was interrupted by a pie, thrown from Nora, that impacted her directly in the face.

Ren face palmed while Pyrrha covered her mouth in shock. Markus was already looking for cover and exits and deciding between the two.

This was a difficult decision. He knew what was about to happen. He had had what one would consider to be a fairly normal childhood by pre-war standards in Vault 101, it was why his father had taken him there after all. It was evident that a full-on food fight would occur. Personally, he would have simply left the room as discreetly as possible however, that would appear antisocial and he would be abandoning his team. So, it didn't matter how he felt about the matter. The food fight was happening and he was stuck in it because his team was involved. So, as the food started to fly, his adrenaline spiked and the team ran to the far end of the room from the door. He flipped a table on its side and took cover behind it.

The Courier was nearly operating purely on combat instincts although he still maintained the presence of mind needed to keep things safe. He didn't want to hurt anyone. He hoped to increase bonds between the members of the team and show that he was capable of leading in a tactical sense, even if this was only in a mock engagement. There was no time for deep analysis in a fight such as this however. Instinct was the dominant factor. No matter what happened, one thing was clear, this was going to be messy.


	41. Chapter 41 - Edna

**AN:** I realize that I probably should have mentioned this far earlier, but the analysis is supposed to be representative of the LC being a genius. It is mostly involuntary. In a split second, this is what goes through his mind. This allows him to outthink his opponents. It's a bit like the Robert Downey Jr. Sherlock Holmes movies.

Chapter 41 - Edna

Nora laughed manically, standing on top of a pile of tables, precariously stacked. The rest of the team stood flanking her, equidistant from one another.

"I'm queen of the castle! I'm queen of the castle!" she sang.

Markus seriously worried about Nora's mental state. Sure, she seemed functional but you never know. She didn't seem exactly...sane.

Ruby responded in a fashion suggesting that she was high on something. Whether it was sugar or something more potent was impossible to tell.

"Justice will be swift! Justice will be painful!" she crushed a carton of milk in her hand, "It will be delicious!"

"Yeah!" shouted her team in unison.

"Off with their heads!" said Nora, jumping down from her tower.

Team MRPN sent a barrage of watermelons towards the other team. Most of these missed, those that were on course were promptly destroyed by Yang, who had started to use a couple of roast turkeys as boxing gloves. She was joined by Blake who somersaulted over her, picking up a pair of baguettes as she rolled,and used them to shred the melons.

The Lone Courier was throwing the projectiles somewhat halfheartedly. He had little motivation in this "fight" and did not want to hurt someone by sending a ninety mile per hour melon at them. So he pulled his punches quite significantly. There was no danger to him after all.

Of course, this assessment was short lived as Yang had sent the two turkeys she was using towards him and Pyrrha, who was now wielding a baguette as well. The pair had been advancing up the center, the projectiles forced Pyrrha to halt her forward momentum and roll to her right, the Courier strafed left and continued, now trying to flank. He did not stop to see how Pyrrha was handling Blake. If she was anywhere near the fighter he accolades told her to be, she should not have any trouble.

Markus was proven right when both Yang and Blake fell on their backs some ways away. Just then, a red blur appeared to his right. Ruby was on the other end of the room before he could even try to react. He had not been paying attention and now had lost the advantage. He turned around now, all his opponent being behind him. Ruby had succeeded in knocking Pyrrha down however she was even now in the process of getting up. Ren and Nora charged towards the other team. Ren slipped on a puddle of ketchup created by White while Nora obtained a pole which she stabbed through a watermelon to make herself a hammer of sorts. She smashed this into Ruby and White, sending Ruby flying. The girl landed on her back, a few feet behind Markus. A few seconds later, White smashed into a pillar with enough force to crack it. Ruby was up in an instant, checking on her partner.

In the cursory inspection the Lone Courier had performed and the sound of Ruby's voice, he had determined that White was out of it. Ascertaining this, he returned his attention to those not currently occupied.

Seeing as there was little he could do here, he ran towards the rest of his team. Yang had started to charge towards Ren, again with turkeys on her fists. The two met in the center, with Ren using leeks to block Yang's strikes. That however, was not going amazingly. Markus rushed to assist, searching for some manner of food based weapon. It took longer than was optimal. Yang had succeeded in incapacitating Ren before he had found something usable. Most foods were too small to wield effectively. Eventually, he found a baguette that would do. It was not an ideal weapon for the scenario but it was good enough.

As Ren struggled to rise from the ground, he smashed the baguette into an unsuspecting Yang. He had snuck up on her entirely inadvertently. Unfortunately for Yang, this put her into the path of Nora who was none too pleased about the blonde having incapacitated her partner. Nora swung her makeshift hammer with such force that Yang was sent flying through one of the windows that lined the walls. Blake retaliated by slamming a particularly long belt of sausages into Nora, forcing the Lone Courier to duck. Nora crashed into a cluster of soda machines and, began to throw the cans at the still standing members of team RWBY. This was surprisingly effective as the cans exploded slightly upon impact. The Courier watched, feeling no need to intervene. He was maintaining a very defensive, reactionary strategy in this fight.

His attention was drawn to Pyrrha of course, when she started to levitate and control hundreds of soda cans. She sent them in a virtual stream of metal at Blake, sending the faunus far across the hall. Only Ruby was standing. _"Well, this is almost over now_ ," thought Markus. He was fairly certain that there was not much Ruby was capable of doing in a two on one scenario. Especially against him and Pyrrha. The rest of team MRPN seemed to be recovering as well. It would extremely difficult for them to lose this. That is, until Ruby used her semblance.

The Courier had entirely given up understanding how any of this "semblance" and "aura" stuff worked in any sense other than practically. He no longer had any real idea of how these functions could be reconciled scientifically. That was something he would leave to the Think Tank. Between Pyrrha's apparent telekinesis and RWBY's insane speed. He was mainly worried about the tactical implications of these abilities that any of his opponents might have.

This was all going through his head as Ruby hurtled towards the team at speeds so quickly that the vacuum left in her wake was attracting the soda cans that Pyrrha had used as projectiles. The wind generated by this lifted the other members of his team of their feet. He stabbed the ground with his trench knife which he had drawn with the fluidity of a magician. His increased weight due to both height and cybernetics meant that he had kept his footing longer than any of the others. At this point, Markus' entire team was incapacitated. He decided to end this. He activated VATS.

The Lone Courier targeted Ruby. He executed.

Ruby came to a very abrupt stop. Before she could ascertain the cause of her sudden halt, she was impacted by a smattering of soda cans and other debris. When she removed the brightly colored spray from her eyes, she saw the wall in front of her covered in more bright colors and the remains of various foods as well as three members of team MRPN. Wait a second... three? It was then that she realized that she was dangling about a foot off the ground, being held by her cape by none other than a very brightly colored Markus. Ruby laughed embarrassedly. He let go and she dropped to the floor at the same time that those that were plastered to the wall did as well.

"And that's why I don't wear a cape," he said.

Just then, the doors to the hall exploded open to reveal an irate Professor Goodwitch.

"I suppose we'll just have to call this a draw," said Markus.

Markus had expected this to happen, it was simply that he saw no real way out of it. Ideally, he would have prevented the food fight in the first place. However, once he had failed to do that, this was by far the best of the options. In the background, the Yang reentered from the same door that Goodwitch had came through.

With a wave of her crop, Goodwitch repaired all the damage done to the room, restoring it to pristine condition. Even with the Courier's new policy of not bothering to attempt to rationalize things, this hurt his brain. With abilities like this, there was no good reason why the Grimm were still a threat.

"Children, please," she said anticlimactically, "do not play with your food."

While Markus probably would have said the same thing, had the situation permitted it, he was glad the entire thing turned out to be a non-issue. While the rest of the group were talking, the Lone Courier tuned them out to focus on what Ozpin and Goodwitch were saying.

"Let it go," said Ozpin conciliatorily.

"They're supposed to be the defenders of the world," she sighed.

"And they will be. But right now they're still children. So why not let them play the part? Afterall, it isn't a role they'll have forever"

It was a truth the Lone Courier knew far too well. Shattered innocence was the way of the wasteland. Even in Zion, despite the peaceful nature of the tribes, they too ended up being forced to grow up or die. Markus only hoped that Ozpin would not wait until it was too late to instill maturity and discipline. The enemy most certainly would not. Neither of the teams were capable of handling even the death of an individual. He had seen war in both the Wastelands and it had left him barely functioning. Even now, his mental state was a timebomb delayed by copious amounts of duct tape. There was no way that Pyrrha, Ren, Nora, Yang, Ruby, Blake, or Weiss could withstand the horrors and brutality of the war. If there was one thing that the Lone Courier knew, it was war. And he knew enough about it that even here, in Remnant, where nothing made sense, that war...war never changes. So, they would have to change.

 **AN:** As you can see, I've applied some minor nerfs to durability so that it makes sense that bullets are effective. It makes no sense to carry a 9mm when you are going up against people who can smash into a pillar with such force the pillar collapses and yet merely be unconscious. I have also forced the story to obey the laws of physics as sight gags such as Yang falling through the roof after the action is over translate poorly to the literary medium and force the reader to suspend disbelief.


	42. Chapter 42 - Perk: Gun Nut

Chapter 42 - Perk: Gun Nut

* * *

It was quite often that Ruby went to the room that the rocket lockers were kept in. According to Yang, it was unhealthily often, but Ruby didn't believe her. In her eyes, it was impossible to spend too much time with your weapon. Of course, Yang disagreed, saying that she needed to spend more time with _people_ rather than instruments of death. To Ruby, people were too complicated. Crescent Rose didn't have anything like emotions, prejudice, or dark secrets. It was something tangible that she could understand intimately and quantifiably.

One of the major benefits that the location afforded Ruby, was solitude. Not that she didn't enjoy the company of her team, but the fact that she was meant to be their leader put a damper on most experiences. The responsibility was a painful burden on their relationships.

While most other students loved their weapons, none of them spent anywhere near the borderline obsessive amount of time on them that she did on hers. Which was why she was almost always guaranteed one-on-one time with her sweetheart. Which was a not-at-all weird thing to call her weapon. Not at all.

A logical question that one would ask, was what exactly Ruby did with her weapon. Of course, no one would actually ask _her_ this question, as most people recognized that it would result in a highly energetic and almost entirely unintelligible monologue that was liable to last a minimum of twenty minutes as she went on various tangents of highly technical aspects that were not quite relevant.

In actuality, what Ruby typically did could be explained in relatively few words. There were two primary things she did: maintenance and tuning. When Ruby tweaked her weapon, she experimented to see what parameters would result in the greatest muzzle velocity and the greatest recoil. It was not a precise science to her, but more of an art; consisting more of trial and error than lengthy calculations. As if she would have the patience for that kind of thing.

The maintenance, was more of necessity. While nearly all of her peers weapons also transformed, Crescent Rose was particularly complex, and in many cases, gratuitously intricate. This was a conscious decision of its creator, who felt that it was an extension of herself, rather than a tool to be used. Thus, practicality had been disregarded in some instances in favor of aesthetics and simple solutions ignored in favor of deliciously complex ones. These design decisions made Crescent Rose a high maintenance weapon. Not that Ruby particularly minded. In her opinion, it was all more than worth it.

As usual, she was so absorbed in the beauty of her creation, that it was not until she removed it from her locker that she noticed the addition of an unusual noise to the normal ambiance. It was a series of mechanical, almost rhythmic clicks, some very distinctive. There was a pattern of a series of clicks, a pause, and then another series. This repeated itself regularly.

Curious, she grabbed her weapon and headed in the direction she thought the noise was coming from. Ruby cradled her weapon rather than hefted it. She was not expecting conflict. Why would she?

As she peeked down each of the rows of lockers, she eventually found the highly unlikely source. It was Markus. He was probably the second to last person she would have expected to see here, behind Weiss. She would not have figured either of them to be the kind of people to perform religious maintenance on their weapons. The idea of Weiss doing anything like maintenance with Myrtenaster was something Ruby simply could not picture.

As Ruby actually entered the row, she got a better view of him and noticed some things. His hands were moving faster than she could track, there were over four feet of various gun parts arranged on a table in front of him. While she could not see exactly what he was doing, as his hands appeared little more than blurs, the weapon was gradually taking shape. She then noticed something very peculiar: his eyes were closed. Suddenly, they opened, and met hers. His hands did not stop moving.

"Um..hi!" said Ruby, waving her free hand, "I didn't expect to see you here-I mean, there's no particular reason _you_ wouldn't be here, it's just I've never seen you here before actually I've never really seen anyone else here and I come here quite a lot…" Ruby trailed off as she realized that she was rambling nervously.

She was not good at talking to people. She hadn't come here for social interaction, she had come here specifically to _avoid_ that. Before she could despair further, she became distracted, something that was not unusual for her. Ruby's eyes grew wide as she saw what Markus had reassembled.

"What's that?" It was another huge rifle, similar in size to Hécate which was what the one he had initially used was called. This one, was different in several ways. Whereas Hécate looked worn and weathered (which, in retrospect, was odd,) this one was a uniform matte black. As well, it had a curved magazine and a hollow stock. Furthermore, the receiver covered most of the chamber, giving it the appearance of a short barrel. It also had a far larger muzzle brake. The barrel was extremely wide, indicating it was of an extremely high caliber. However, Ruby could not determine whether it was the same caliber or greater than Hécate. Most interestingly, it had a bipod, indicating Markus expected to be firing it from an emplaced position, something highly unusual in the highly mobile fighting styles used by huntsmen.

He hefted the weapon, its barrel in his left hand and the stock in his right, the barrel held higher than the stock.

"This, is the Barrett XM109 prototype Anti-Materiel Payload Rifle. Highest caliber weapon of its kind." Ruby's eyes were as large as dinner plates and she was virtually salivating. But of course, she would deny that her obsession with weapons was unhealthy despite all evidence to the contrary.

"What caliber is it?" she said excitedly.

"It fires custom 25mm by 59mm XM1049 armor piercing rounds," he materialized a round in his right hand, "one of these can pierce two inches of steel."

He seemed amused by her fanatically interest in the weapon.

Her memory distracted her from the present, as her curiosity overtook her technical interest.

"Why were you assembling and disassembling it over and over?

While Ruby had assembled and disassembled her own weapon countless times, she had always done it for a purpose, never for its own sake.

"It pays to know your weapon intimately. If it becomes damaged or jammed in the field, how quickly you can fix it will likely be quite literally a matter of life and death," he responded, sounding almost like he was quoting something or someone.

"But why with your eyes closed?"

"There are various situations in which there might not be enough light to see your weapon. Even operations that commenced during the day could bleed over into night."

What he said made sense. However, Ruby found his word choice odd. He used "operation" instead of "mission". He sounded more military than he should. Ruby figured she was probably overthinking it. She wasn't good at sophisticated, rich people, talking. To her, both he and Weiss sounded stilted in their manner of speech.

"Why does it have such a big muzzle brake?"

"For the rest of us, high recoil is a _bad_ thing," he said drily.

Ruby realized that that had been a rather stupid question. Ruby was caught off guard when _he_ asked _her_ a question.

"So, why a scythe-sniper rifle?"

Fortunately, this was something she had a well rehearsed answer for.

"My uncle Qrow uses a scythe. He helped me design it when I was still at Signal."

Markus was looking intently at her weapon.

"Have you considered using a long recoil action mechanism?" he asked finally.  
"Long recoil?" she asked, unfamiliar with the term.

"Like the barrel of a howitzer."

"Howitzer?" she asked, unfamiliar with _that_ term too.

"In a short recoil weapon, both the barrel and the bolt recoil a short way before the barrel locks and the bolt continues and ejects the spent cartridge," Ruby nodded, this was something she was familiar with. All recoil operated weapons used this method or the extremely rare inertia method.

"In a long recoil weapon," he continued, "the barrel and bolt recoil together the full length of the receiver. It's more complex than short recoil, but it should give you better recoil."

He put the XM109 down and started pushing buttons on his arm-mounted scroll.

"Here," he said, "I'll send you the schematics for a long recoil AMR prototype."

The message popped up on Ruby's scroll.

"You can reverse engineer it and apply it as you see fit. Just, don't spread it around too much. I'm sure you understand the damage this could do in the wrong hands."

Ruby was shocked by the amount of trust Markus had shown her. He seemed to her as a very reserved person, not someone to trust easily. Therefore she felt particularly honored by this leap of faith he had taken by giving her a cutting edge prototype that he probably shouldn't be giving anyone. But before she could say anything, she realized that he was already halfway out of the room.

"Bye!" she said, once again waving with her free hand. Then, she was left alone. She took out her Scroll and opened the document Markus had sent her.

"Steyr Infantry Weapons System 2000" it was titled. Her eyes narrowed as she examined it. This, would be difficult. And fun.

* * *

 **AN:** I will quite likely be writing more of this type of chapter. Character interaction is the soul of fanfiction after all. You would not believe how much research writing this chapter required. Trying to write dialogue between two gun nuts is not an easy task. I haven't officially announced this, but during the hiatus, I am writing a Fallout and Queen's Blade crossover as an alternate timeline in which the transportalponder took the LC to Queen's Blade rather than Remnant. So, shameless plug for that. There are a couple chapters in regards to the battle of Beacon in the works.


	43. Chapter 43 - World of Lies

Chapter 42 - World of Lies

The Lone Courier sat with his team in the library, focusing intensely on his Pip-boy while Pyrrha and Ren studied and Nora napped. A table away, team RWBY were playing some kind of card game, though Markus couldn't be bothered to determine what it was.

He was currently hacking various terminals connected to the school in search of the video that contained team RWBY's fight with the White Fang. Evidently some very...interesting things had occurred. Markus had yet to decide if the enemy of his enemy were indeed his friends in this conflict. He had no illusions that they would accept him if they knew the truth. Their innocence would make them incapable of understanding the necessity that drove his actions. Teenagers were not famous for their moral sensibility.

It did not take long for him to find the file. He made sure the audio was muted and no one was watching. Markus watched intently as Blake and Sun engaged Torchwick and the other White Fang members present. It was clear from the techniques used against Blake that the White Fang were aiming to kill. There was no chance she was a double agent. The White Fang appeared to be frankly abysmal in combat, always closing to melee range and attacking one at a time. Torchwick was interesting, a human able to command the White Fang, an organization dedicated to his species' destruction. It made no sense and hinted that there was something going on that he did not know about.

Torchwick fired at a target out of frame, before a girl, on closer inspection revealed to be Penny, and a storm of swords came into view. They all appeared to be directed by Penny although the means used by her were not apparent. While he was unsure of anything, he suspected that Penny was like Pyrrha in that she had stunted social skills due to a focus on combat ones.

Further examination revealed that wires were attached to the blades when she used some to pull herself backwards. She then began to charge a sphere of green energy. This sphere then separated into two beams the effect of which was not apparent until two bisected bullheads glided through the frame. There was still another of the aircraft however and Penny was trying to bring it down by using the cords attached to her weapons. In the time it took to bring the last bullhead down, Roman had escaped. He scrolled through the rest of the video, checking to see if anything else happened. It was then he noticed that Penny was suddenly no longer there. He scrolled through the video, attempting to see where she had gone. It was finally revealed that not long before the team had been reunited, she had entered a car with tinted windows. There were not many vehicles in Vale with tinted windows.

He managed to get a legible view of the plates by checking the various cameras that were on the scene. After some more hacking, and a quick search in the database, the Courier identified the plates. Atlesian military. Any further details were left blank in the registry. There was a serial number, however he did not think it would be worth it to spend the time cracking a military grade encryption. He now knew something important. Penny was important to Atlas. In what capacity was still unclear, however the fact that she was important enough to have an official driver and vehicle pick her up indicated that she was of strategic value. They certainly viewed her as an asset. The real question was _why_? While she was skilled in combat, that was no reason that the atlas military should have a vested interest in protecting her. She had said she was a student, why would Atlas care so much about a student? There were two options, either she was the child of someone high ranking in Atlas, something that a quick search showed to be untrue, or, she was lying.

The Lone Courier now had something of a mystery on his hands. This one-man war he was fighting was getting complicated, there were too many parties getting involved and he knew too little about most of them. Previously, it had just been everyone against the White Fang. With Atlas being involved and the fact that he really did not know who had been fighting them prior to his arrival, he realized that he would need a lot more information before he could determine his next course.

The fact that team RWBY had been previously in conflict with the White Fang, and at least two of its members were wanted dead by the organization, Markus knew he had potential allies. Even more so than his own team. As far as he knew, no one on team MRPN had any direct contact with the White Fang. Ideally, he would change that, having a team was useless if they did nothing but homework. However judging by the commotion that team RWBY was making, they would be worse than useless.

The Lone Wanderer looked up when he noticed someone entered the room. It was a habit that he had picked up, and one that had served him well in the past. People typically have a purpose when entering a room, and it is always important to verify that that purpose is not ending your life. It was Sun, the monkey faunus and a blue haired guy, presumably associated with him.

"'Sup losers," he said.

"Hey Sun!" said Ruby.

"Ruby, Yang, Blake...Ice Queen," greeted Sun.

The Courier was not looking forward to being introduced. He suspected that Sun would have a field day between him and White.

"Why does everyone keep calling me that?" asked White. The Courier could hardly believe how oblivious she was. Sun ignored the question and continued. He gestured towards his companion.

"I never got a chance to formally introduce you to my old friend."

Said friend was fairly embarrassed at the noise they were making.

"Uhh, aren't libraries for reading?"

"Thank you!" said Ren, throwing up his arms in validation.

"Pancakes!" Nora, briefly awakening from her nap to interject.

"Shut up. Don't be a nerd," said Sun. Presumably, this was directed at his friend, not a Nora, as nerds had no traditional association with pancakes. His friend protested.

"Geh, geh, geh, geh! (this is straight from the transcript) ' _Intellectual'_ , okay? Thank you," he waved, "I'm Neptune."

"So Neptune, where are you from?" asked White.

"Haven," he said, "And I don't believe I've caught your name, snow angel."

"Um, I'm Weiss," said White.

"Pleasure to meet you."

In the meantime, Sun was talking to Blake or, at least, trying to.

"I never took you as the board playing type."

"Right, well, I think I'm done playing actually. I'll see you guys later." She shoved Sun to the side and left the room.

Nora looked up and shrugged.

"Women," she said.

Everyone looked at each other, confused on multiple levels, searching for sanity in the eyes of the others. Nora made no sense, that was not particularly unusual, though this particular saying had the previous ones beat. Most were at followed some degree of logic, warped as it was.

The bigger deal, was obviously Blake. It was the elephant in the room that she was not the same since the fight with the White Fang. Blake was even more withdrawn, and was outright antisocial. Previously, she had been asocial, simply appearing as shy and introverted, now she seemed to be exhibiting symptoms reminiscent of clinical depression. The Lone Courier hoped that this was not medical but rather emotional depression, he had enough headcases to manage.


	44. Chapter 44 - Virtus Unita Fortior

**AN:** The new "World of Remnant" video provides more insight into how hunters act in Remnant. The description of Mantle as "now defunct" is interesting as so far, there has been no explanation.

Chapter 43 - Virtus Unitor Fortior

"So...should we go after her?" asked Pyrrha.

"Nah, we'll stage an intervention later," said Yang.

With the resolution of that problem postponed, everyone returned to what they were doing, with team RWBY resuming their game, Pyrrha and Ren studying, Nora to sleeping, and Markus to his research. For the Lone Courier, there was always more to do.

The big news was,of course, the arrival of Atlas forces en masse. It was totally impossible to miss the hovering ships that had virtually occupied the area. The big question of course, was why they were there. The Courier knew that this was impressive show of power even by pre-war standards. The hundreds of aircraft would be entirely capable of conquering a region without even needing to deploy ground troops.

However, all information available to him indicated that it was currently a time of peace, with the last major war having taken place eighty years ago. As far as he knew, there was nothing in the area that warranted such a force. The White Fang were hardly a military threat, what with their spree of dust robberies and occasional attacks that affected a dozen people at most. Nothing they had done would necessitate the use of fleet in pacifying them..

Similarly, the Grimm were not threatening enough for this amount of force to be justified. This was a show of power reminiscent of either a coup d'état or a Cold War. This was a fleet ready for war. And since no ongoing war was apparent to the Lone Courier, it was clear that one was imminent. The only question was, between who?

This lack of knowledge troubled him as he hacked through Atlas files. It was further troubling when he found no information on why the fleet was here, not even in the classified memos he had found access to. Eventually he resorted to going through personal messages. It was then he found something, a message from General Ironwood, leader of Atlas forces, to Ozpin. The message itself used a cypher. An complex one as well.

While the Lone Courier had acquired many skills in his travels, advanced code breaking was not one of them. Besides, that kind of thing typically required either a team of specialists or a supercomputer-neither of which he had access to at the moment. While he was reasonably sure that with the resources that he had here and his own intelligence, he could decypher the message, he was unwilling to invest so much time into something that had no guaranteed-or even likely-payoff. The presence of the message told him enough. It meant that there were things going on that he did not know about on a high level. And that, was something that needed rectifying. He could not take sides in a conflict in which he did not know all the facts.

As time went on, team RWBY's game ended and they slowly ambled back to their room. As it was getting dark, Markus and his team did the same not long after. The thing with Nora was that she was extremely energetic but she tired quickly. By this point in the day her hyperactivity had typically faded dramatically. Unfortunately for the rest of the team, she had been napping during the day meaning that she was incredibly hyper this evening.

Markus, Pyrrha, and Ren watched in despair as Nora continued to bounce on her mattress. They had long prior given up trying to get anything done due to the incessant, rhythmic noise the action made. Her prior discovery and subsequent consumption of Ren's syrup supply had only made the already bad situation worse. She was babbling and giggling almost incoherently in between rapid jumps from various almost non-sensical statements about random topics.

They were saved from this fresh hell by the most unlikely of saviors: shouting in the room across the hall. Evidently team RWBY's intervention was not going well. How ironic that they would need to intervene in an intervention. Well, it was an excuse to do _something_ and more importantly, a way to get away from Nora.

"Pyrrha, should we try to help?" asked Markus, creating the excuse to leave.

"Um…yes, we should investigate and see what is wrong," said Pyrrha.

The two were nearly a blur as they abandoned Ren to deal with Nora, almost slamming the door behind them. Now that they had escaped, the Lone Courier felt like facepalming at how awkward Pyrrha was. You would think she had never had a conversation in her life.

They felt a little bit bad for abandoning Ren to his partner but they _were_ partners, they both independently rationalized, it _was_ his job. On both counts, the rationalizing was ineffective, though the relief they felt masked the feeling that they had just throw Ren under the proverbial bus.

"We really need to work on your lying," said Markus as they stood outside of the entrance of team RWBY's room. Pyrrha cheeks colored slightly but before she could respond, they heard another heated exclamation, this time with the Courier distinctly hearing the words "Torchwick" and "White Fang". This gave him more than enough reason to be interested. Or worried. This could easily be another disagreement (to put it mildly) between White and Blake. Still, if it meant doing something interesting, it was worth it.

"Ready?" he said, his hand on the door knob. Pyrrha nodded. He turned the knob and entered, bracing for another argument.

Instead, what he got was a manic looking Ruby, looking gesturing randomly, with the entire room staring at her.

"Okay, all in favor of becoming the youngest Huntresses to single-handedly taking down a corrupt organization conspiring against the Kingdom of Vale... say aye," said Ruby.

"Aye," said Markus immediately. He figured it was as good an introduction as any.

Everyone turned to look at them. Ruby snapped out of whatever...whatever she was in.

"Uhh. Why are you here?" she asked.

"We heard shouting, and words like "White Fang" and "Torchwick" and decided to investigate," he paused for emphasis,"before someone less friendly did."

"Besides," said Pyrrha, you didn't think you were going to do this without us did you?" There was no answer other than a silence which confirmed the obvious fact that team RWBY had, in fact, intended to do this without them. Pyrrha was surprisingly good at accidentally guilt tripping an entire room.

"We're not asking you to do this," said Blake seriously.

"Neither are we," returned Markus.

"Let's hatch a plan!" said Ruby, as excited as ever.

"Yeah!" said her sister.

Ruby gasped and said, "I left my board game at the library!"

"What a start," said the Courier with his typical cynicism.

"We're doomed," White said as she facepalmed.

Yang snickered.

"I'll be right back!" yelled Ruby, running into the hall. As the rest of the group devolved into idle conversation, the Lone Courier turned his attention to a conversation in the hall that only he(and possibly Blake) could hear.

"Um, I'm Ruby! Are you new?"

" _New students?"_ thought the Courier, _"Ah, the Vytal Festival."_

"Visiting from Haven, actually," an unfamiliar voice said. The voice was female and a subdued kind of sinister. While the Courier knew he was probably reading too much into it, these students were not above suspicion, no matter how paranoid he seemed.

There was a long pause before: "Oooooh! You're here for the festival!" said Ruby, not too far behind his own train of thought.

"OH, but exchange students have their own dormitory."

"Well I guess we just got turned around," said another, this time male, voice. This one's tone was even more suspicion than the other's. He sounded almost sarcastic. The Lone Courier paranoia was acting up further. He was becoming increasingly convinced that they were working for someone. In the Wasteland, if you weren't suspicious enough, you died. His paranoia was acutely developed because, typically, there _were_ people constantly trying to kill him. Now that there weren't, it took effort for him not to fidget when in sight of a large window, trying to shake snipers.

"Don't worry," said Ruby, "happens all the time! Uh, your building is just east of here!"

A male and female walked past the open door to team RWBY's room, the opposite direction they should be going. The voice of the original speaker showed that there were at least three of them and that the green haired girl was not infact the one who had spoken.

"Thanks. Maybe we'll see you around."

"Yeah, maybe!" said Ruby.

The Courier swore that Ruby's good nature would get her killed one day.

"Oh! and welcome to Beacon!"

Markus would certainly be keeping Maria loaded tonight.

 **AN:** Season two largely neglected team JNPR for no real reason. Therefore, at least Pyrrha and Markus are involved, partly by chance and partly because Markus is intending to use RWBY's conflict with the White Fang for his own benefit.

I created a forum for discussion. Well, mostly because I could but that's what it's meant for. I will be reading what is posted there so, if you want to ask a question or say something not just to me (as that is what reviews effectively are) but to your fellow readers as well, that would be the place to do it. Keep in mind, even this far into this story, my writing is still very much a work in progress. All feedback is appreciated. In the meantime, thanks for reading, keep reviewing, favoriting and all that good stuff.


	45. Chapter 45 - Institutional Resemblance

**AN:** Well, big news, here forum/The-Bringer-of-War-Discussion/185810/1/101825/ is a forum I made for general discussion, or questions that don't quite fit for reviews or you would like to see answered in a more public place. It's under the RWBY category if you want to navigate there.

* * *

Chapter 44 - Institutional Resemblance

Quite predictably, not much had been resolved by the meeting with team RWBY except that they would meet again after the week's classes were over. On the brightside, both Ren and Nora were asleep by the time they returned. That was one particular ability that only Ren possessed and was proving to be invaluable.

Despite his mental fatigue, it took the Lone Courier far longer than it should have to fall asleep. Every shadow was a sniper, every sound, an assassin. Even here in Vale, he had more than enough enemies that wanted him dead. When he finally fell into the merciful release of sleep, it was only fitfully, and plagued with dreams. He walked through endless, gray, semi corporeal corridors that were filled with smoky shadows of vaguely defined threatening figures. The entire dream felt like it took place in slow motion. It was constant CQC, every corner he turned, more familiar figures lunged towards him, only to be dispersed by rounds from Maria, each with a tracer of smoke from the round. The figures were suspended in the position the dream bullet impacted. Markus felt that he knew who they were but was unable to put an identity to the familiarity. It still puzzled him long after waking up.

This pattern of dream continued for the rest of the week with the Courier running through every person or group of people he had known yet he could not determine who it was. There were variations in the dreams, with there being occasional gaps in the walls of the corridors he found himself in through which he could see panoramic vistas of places he had been. All were distant and seemed veiled. At no point was any other life seen.

It had been previously decided that the Lone Courier would designate the missions for the various members of his team separately from team RWBY and that they would reconvene after the operation. This entire thing was totally unofficial and most likely very much not allowed therefore it was paramount to maintain a low profile. Therefore, despite his poor sleep, Markus spent the time outside of classes plotting how he could use his team against the White Fang. His largest limitation was that his team was not trained in stealth meaning that going to areas with larger numbers of combatants was risky. The fact that they were unwilling to use lethal force expounded on his issues.

He had figured that the most useful thing he could have his team do was reconnaissance. Low risk, and if he had each of them go after a different target, he could give himself more operational freedom.

After the end of Port's mind numbingly boring lecture on something entirely irrelevant, both teams raced to their respective rooms. Markus briefed his team.

"So, here's the plan: we have three targets. Nora and Ren will go to one. Pyrrha and I will go to our own respective targets. This is a covert mission. Avoid detection and combat at all costs. If things go badly, let us, and team RWBY, know so we can support you."

He paused for a moment before continuing.

"This is Reconnaissance. Basically, record enemy numbers, equipment, and anyone who looks important. We will reconvene a discuss our next move with team RWBY once we have gathered all available data. Take no chances. Simply verifying that the White Fang are in fact present is all that is needed, everything else is dispensable."

He tapped his Pip-boy a few times before looking up again.

"I have sent you the locations. Good luck."

* * *

The Lone Courier was walking through the streets of Vale, completely invisible. He had felt that with his assumed identity of the son of a man at war with a terrorist group, keeping the lowest possible profile was not a bad idea. His own mission was intentionally a low priority and situated equidistant from the rest of both teams' mission sites. Markus was well aware of how just how risky this venture was and thus ensured he would be available should things go wrong.

While he was walking towards his objective, the Courier kept an eye on the people he passed, looking for suspicious characters not for his own safety of course, but for possible leads. So far, the only names he had for leads were Roman Torchwick and...speak of the devil. Penny and Ruby were standing not four meters in front of him. Perhaps he could learn exactly what a military organization like Atlas had to do with a girl like Penny. The Lone Wanderer had little trust in secret military organizations. They had proved to be the sources of great strife both before and after the Great War, either pulling strings behind the scenes like the Enclave, or staging coups.

"I wish I could help you Ruby," Penny was saying, "But I don't know anything about those men."

"Well, what happened to you that night?" asked Ruby, "We were all together and then you just disappeared. Were you kidnapped?"

Ruby's mind went to a surprisingly dark place surprisingly quickly though Penny was quick to deny it.

"Oh no, nothing like that!"

"Well then where did you go?"

"I've never been to another kingdom before. My father asked me not to venture out too far, but, oh you have to understand, my father loves me very much. He just worries a lot."

"Believe me I know the feeling," said Ruby.

Penny's father was a matter of curiosity to the Courier as he had found no records of any high ranking personnel in the Atlas data with a child named Penny. Either she was lying or the data was. Both were equally likely.

"But, why not let us know you were okay?"

"I, was asked, not to talk to you. Or Weiss...Or Blake…or Yang. Anybody really."

So basically, she was given what amounted to be a gag order. Why? Why was Penny talking to others dangerous? Did she know something she shouldn't?

"Wow, your Dad was that upset?"

"No, it wasn't my father."

The conversation was interrupted by a loudspeaker around a corner.

"The AK130 has been a standard security model of Remnant for several years, and they have done a fine job. Wouldn't you agree? Wouldn't you agree?"

Something told the Lone Courier that "AK" did not stand for "Avtomat Kalashnikova" like it did in the Wasteland. As he rounded the corner he saw a hologram of a military looking man in front of several humanoid mechs which in turn stood in front of several large, unremarkable boxes.

" _But_... the kingdom of Atlas is a kingdom of innovation, and 'fine'... Well, that's just not good enough, is it?" said the hologram, "Presenting... the Atlesian Knight-200!"

The doors to the boxes rolled up, and six new, bulkier and shinier mechs stood at attention before knocking their predecessors down to the applause of the watchers.

"Smarter, sleeker, and admittedly, a little less models will become active later this year, but they won't be alone! Now, the Atlesian Military has always supported the idea of removing men from the dangers of the battlefield. However, there are still many situations that will undoubtedly require... a human touch."

This statement told the Courier much about Atlas. The fact that the mechs were being advertised as less scary indicated that they were meant as a peacekeeping force as fear of them would be beneficial in a war. Efforts to "remove men from the dangers of the battlefield" were met with limited success in the Old World due to EMPs and pulse weapons. This demonstration also showed that Remnant was exceeding the Old World in terms of robotics. The AI appeared to be non-sentient much to the relief of the Lone Wanderer. It would be bad to prevent another nuclear holocaust only for the planet to be taken over by genocidal machines. Of course, situations that required a human touch were far more common in times of peace. Robots could not be trusted in special operations roles and were incapable of acting as force multipliers. He would be watching the technological progress of Atlas to ensure that their science never became as destructive as that of the Old World military.

"So, our kingdom's greatest minds, in cooperation with the Schnee Dust Company, are proud to introduce... the Atlesian Paladin!"

The hologram of the speaker was replaced by a white robotic behemoth with huge piston hinged legs, and rectangular body parts. It was at least twice the size of the smaller mechs.

"Now, we couldn't have him here for you today, but these mechanized battles suits will be seen defending the borders of ours kingdom within the year!"

The suits seemed to be an early effort at creating power armor. Still, while it looked impressive, he saw many flaws that would be apparent in a war. The joints appeared vulnerable and its bulk made it vulnerable to infantry with anti-tank weapons, especially in urban warfare.

"Whoa…" said Ruby, evidently far more impressed with the battle suit than the cynical Courier was.

"Ruby? Maybe we should go somewhere else," said Penny. She sounded worried.

Two soldiers pointed at Penny and started talking into radio. Penny sprinted away, the Lone Courier keeping pace.

"Penny! Wait! Where are you going?"

Ruby had evidently not noticed the soldiers and both the Courier and Penny had a significant lead. They continued to run through the alleys until Ruby caught up with Penny and used her semblance to propel them both down a long alley leaving the Lone Courier a ways back. With a sigh, Markus pushed himself to his considerable top speed. He was closing rapidly on the two girls when Penny stopped a truck with her bare hands. Even the Lone Courier could only do that with power armor.

Fortunately, this allowed him to get within observable range of Penny. People were starting to gather and it was extremely difficult for the Courier to avoid bumping into any of them. One of the disadvantages of being invisible. Penny dashed past Ruby, away from both the crowd and the pursuing soldiers.

"Penny! Come back!" called Ruby.

The Courier was already after her. Ruby seriously was not cut out for this sort of work. Well, he supposed she _was_ young and much could be attributed to youth, though in matters of life and death, excuses did not matter.

It did not take long for Ruby to find and confront Penny.

"Penny! Please! What is going on?"

Markus was glad someone was asking that question though, in his time here, he had seen more than enough things that warranted this reaction but were not granted it.

"Why are you running? How did you do that?!"

"I-I can't. Everything's fine!" Penny hiccuped after saying this, an oddity to be sure.

"I-I don't want to talk about it." She hiccuped again.

"Penny if you can just tell me what's wrong I can help you."

"No, no no, you wouldn't understand," said Penny.

"Let me try. You can trust me."

"You're my friend, right?" asked Penny, "You promise you're my friend?"

"I promise," said Ruby. Ahh, unkeepable promises, the best kind.

"Ruby…," said Penny, "I'm not a real girl."

 _Well fuck._

* * *

 **AN:** It was a bit of stretch to have the Lone Courier find out Penny's secret however I felt that it was important to get his perspective. Anyway, another reminded/request to check out the forum under the RWBY category to weigh in on morality, power armor, or make your own topic. I also figured out how to make these cool horizontal lines.


	46. Chapter 46 - Ergo Sum

Chapter 45 - Ergo Sum

Well, the Courier supposed that at least for once since his arrival, there was a rational explanation for the strange things he had just witnessed. Penny being a robot was one of the few explanations he had gotten for the strange things he had witnessed. However this was scant consolation when one considered the implications of Atlas having created a synth. This put them on the technical level of the mysterious Institute of the Commonwealth. From what he had learned of them, the Institute used synths as slave labor, something the Courier would not permit Atlas to replicate.

The fact was, that Penny should never have been created in the first place. The creation of artificial consciousness should never have been undertaken. As it was, it seemed that Atlas had been successful in their endeavor since Penny had passed the Turing Test by a substantial margin. Of course, said test was deeply flawed and could be fooled by artificial personalities such as those in the Sink. A major priority of the Courier was to halt development of further AI research and manufacturing. If these synths had a defect in their fundamental programming, enough of them could cause a total end to humanity, especially if they could self replicate.

Of course, the Lone Wanderer held no enmity towards Penny. The girl did not seem to be a strategic threat individually. The true concern was the advancement of Atlas research. At this rate, it was only a matter of time before they discovered (or rediscovered) something of a more destructive nature. From what he gathered from the existence of Penny, they had the restraint of a hyperactive toddler. God help them if they discovered fission. If the Great War had provided only one lesson, it was that science must be bound by morality or billions will burn.

"Penny, I-I don't understand…," Ruby was saying. He supposed that someone who had not previously encountered the concept of sentient AI the conclusion that Penny was a robot was less than obvious.

"Most girls are born, but I was made. I'm the world's first synthetic person capable of generating an Aura!" said Penny. The Courier seized on this immediately.

If the people of Remnant were to be believed, aura was the manifestation of one's soul. If that was true, it served as a foolproof Turing test. It determined that Penny was in fact sentient. That further strengthened his conviction. Atlas could not be trusted to play God. While the Institute were beyond his reach, and the cat was very much out of the bag in that regard, with likely hundreds of synths in the Commonwealth, Atlas's research on this front was very much containable.

"I'm not a real girl," said Penny dejectedly.

Such an existential crisis would normally be logical for the first sentient machine however the presence of aura made this doubt irrational, which opened a host of unappetizing possibilities. There was the possibility that Penny had been modeled so closely to the human brain that human errors could be made. This was the least threatening of options and also one of the less likely. In hindsight, her almost robotic speech patterns made it unlikely she thought the same way that humans did. Next, was the possibility that she was created imperfectly with her logic being faulty or having factors to simulate emotions out balance her logic. This was the most dangerous of the possibilities. If Penny class synths were mass produced and had a small, fundamental error in their logic, it could spell doom for the human race. Finally, it was possible that the idea she was not real was something that was not determined by her but rather inputted by her creator for unknown reasons. However, the fact that this would lead to a belief that she was inferior and did not deserve human rights worried the Lone Wanderer that Atlas were attempting to unknowingly imitate the Institute in creating a slave class of synthetics.

""Of course you are," said Ruby, referring to Penny's denial of her own existence, "You think just because you've got nuts and bolts instead of squishy guts makes you any less real than me?"

While Ruby was right, Markus doubted that she knew why she was.

"I don't… um…," Penny leaned in close to Ruby's face, "You're taking this _extraordinarily_ well." Markus blinked. Ruby _was_ taking this extraordinarily well for someone who had no knowledge of sentient machines.

"You're not like those things we saw back there," said Ruby, tapping Penny's chest, "You've got a heart, and soul; I can feel it!"

While the heart statement was technically inaccurate, he was sure Penny appreciated the sentiment. Besides, the Courier knew firsthand that a heart was not necessary.

"Ooohh… oh Ruby," Penny hugged the other girl, "You're the best friend anyone could have!" This did much to ease Markus' fears of threats directly from Penny. The connection she shared with Ruby would ensure she was not hostile towards humanity, and the fact that she could display emotion and speak as she did further proved that she was functionally human in terms of mental capabilities. However this did not make him trust Atlas science.

"I can see why your father would want to protect such a delicate flower!" said Ruby through the bone-crushing hug.

Penny released Ruby before saying,

"Oh, he's _very_ sweet! My father's the one that built me! I'm sure you would _love_ him!"

The Courier took this with a fairly large grain of salt. He did not trust Old World scientists, especially not the kind that create sentient machines just because they can.

"Wow," said Ruby, "He built you all by himself?"

Ruby really could be oblivious sometimes.

"Well, almost!" said Penny, "He had some help from Mr. Ironwood.

"The General?! Wait… Is that why those soldiers were after you?" Ruby was not the fastest on the uptake.

"They like to protect me, too!"

Markus worried that by preventing Penny from socializing, she might develop mental conditions that would result in lack of empathy or difficulty integrating into society. These lack of skills were evidenced upon their initial chance meeting. She had made Pyrrha look like a Cicero with his skill at socializing. Both lack of empathy and rejection of and from society caused the creation of many villains throughout history. Making a villain of the first synthetic in Remnant would not be a promising start.

"They don't think you can protect yourself?" asked Ruby.

"They're not sure if I'm ready yet… One day, it will be _my_ job to save the world, but I still have a lot left to learn. That's why my father let me come to the Vytal Festival. I want to see what it's like in the rest of the world, and test myself in the Tournament."

The Lone Courier was now on red alert with his brain signalling DEFCONN 3 at least. What was special about a sentient machine that made it Penny's job to save the world? Creating a machine race that believes it is destined to save the world was a plan for disaster. Especially when one considered that the human race was quite often self-destructive, that could be interpreted as a mandate to subjugate or even exterminate humanity.

The fact that Atlas believes technology could save the world showed that they were damned fools. The more advanced technology became, the more destructive potential it wielded. By trying to solve their problems with unrestrained science, the people of Remnant would sign their own death warrant. It was Ruby who gave voice to his next thought.

"Penny, what are you talking about? Save the world from _what?_ We're in a time of peace!"

"That's not what Mr. Ironwood said…"

This confirmed what the Courier already knew, there was something more going on than a simple terrorist group. The big question was, did the leaders of Remnant know the condition of the rest of the world?

A call of "check down here!" signaled to Markus that he had gained all information he could. He supposed he could thank his luck for coming across Ruby and Penny in the first place. This was the most information than he had had in weeks however, it was what this had told him he didn't know that interested him.

The Lone Courier swiftly climbed the side of the building that bordered the alley, deciding to use the rooftops as a better method of travel. It would mean he stood less of a chance of bumping into people. Even an invisible man was noticeable shoving his way through a crowd.

He contemplated his next move. It was then, he received a call on his Pip-boy/scroll from Pyrrha.

"Uhh Markus? You're going to want to see this," was all that Pyrrha said before she ended the call.

Markus then found another problem with working with teenagers: they spoke in cliches.

* * *

 **AN:** /forum/The-Bringer-of-War-Discussion/185810/ that is the link to the forum if anyone missed it. Just paste it after the dot net part of your current url. You can also navigate their by just going to the last page of the RWBY forums. I am most interested in your input for the timing of the Reveal as that is something I have done the least thinking on. As always, thanks for your support, know that every time you PM, Review, or post in the forums you are influencing the course of the story, hopefully for the better.


	47. Chapter 47 - High Powered

Chapter 46 - High Powered

* * *

Markus knew better than to try to communicate with Pyrrha. He did not know how precarious her situation was, therefore he was unwilling to risk compromising her in order to gain more information. Besides, she had sent him her location, and that was all he really needed. He bounded swiftly across the rooftops, his stealth suit making him entirely invisible while the moon hung in its mainly shattered state, lighting his way.

Pyrrha's target had been in a largely abandoned industrial district. To their credit, the White Fang had been careful not to run operations too close to their base. Unfortunately for them, the lack of activity in an area so perfect for a criminal organization to set up gave the game away. He knew that nothing too bad had happened as Pyrrha's aura remained at 100% and he was now at distance where he would have been able to hear gunshots had they been present.

The buildings were blocky, Stalinist style factories, ravaged by abandon. They were in a grid pattern. Immediately in front and below of the Courier from his vantage point, nine of these buildings sprawled, three by three. The eight outer structured were dilapidated, dark, and overgrown. The center one was structurally impeccable, with light spilling from all of its entrances and windows. Evidently the White Fang did not go to any great lengths to conceal themselves at this range. He could even see guards with their telltale masks patrolling the roof.

He vaulted over the short ledge that bordered the roof of the building he was on, falling a couple stories to the abandoned streets below. Markus landed with a forward roll. He continued walking down the street. He brought up his Pip-boy while doing so. He materialized Benny's suit around him; there was no point in hiding. Pressing another button, he materialized both Maria and a silencer. He attached them as he walked, screwing the silencer to the barrel. He slid in a magazine of subsonic hollowpoint dust rounds.

The Lone Courier walked through the partially collapsed entrance of the first of the buildings. The inhabited structure was on the other side. Between the two, somewhere was Pyrrha. Or at least, that's where she was when she called him here.

The interior was empty, but largely intact. The Courier checked his corners with Maria at the ready. If Pyrrha had been compromised then the building would likely be trapped. Of course, he had no reason to believe that Pyrrha had been captured, but as he was fond of saying, a little paranoia never hurt anyone.

He cautiously climbed the stairs, not bothering to check the other floors, instead heading directly to the roof. Markus did not have time to clear the entire building. Finding Pyrrha, and whatever she had found were, in that order, priorities.

Once he reached the roof, he started to move cover to cover. The destroyed smokestacks provided enough concealment for his purposes. With White Fangs guards on the opposite roof, he could not risk being silhouetted.

And there, silhouetted against the skyline, on the edge of the roof was Pyrrha. She was looking intently through a poorly repaired window in the opposite building. The window was extremely large, taking up a good eighty percent of the width of the wall. It was roughly three meters tall, providing a view of the unoccupied catwalk and the bustling floor below. It was thanks only to the ineptitude of the White Fang guards that spared Pyrrha discovery and a worse subsequent fate.

He moved to her, wraithlike in the shadows. Markus paused, unsure of how best to communicate his presence to her. He settled with putting a hand on her shoulder. A move that proved wise as it allowed him to prevent her from jumping couple meters in the air in shock. Thankfully she had done this without making any verbal noise that would attract attention.

The Courier brought a single finger to his lips. After ensuring that Pyrrha's scroll was on silent, he sent her a message.

"What is it?"

Rather than respond by text, she merely pointed at the large window. The Lone Courier looked and saw something that was almost the most worrying thing he had seen all day. At least three Atlesian Paladins were in the base, potentially more in the unmarked crates. If he was lucky, which, as a rule, he was, the crates would be filled with nothing more than dust. Unfortunately, the shipping containers seemed to be armored like main battle tanks, meaning that unless he was using HEAT rounds, setting off a chain reaction of destruction was not an option.

The Courier had an idea. One that most people would find fairly reasonable. Stage 1.

He sent Pyrrha a message.

 _Guns out._

He materialized his silenced M14, while Pyrrha transformed her sword into her rifle. Another one of Remnant's mysteries.

The rifle looked to be a variant of the M1 Garand, chambered for .308 rounds. He materialized a compatible silencer.

 _Use this._

In a few seconds she had screwed on the attachment.

 _Now what?_

 _Four hostiles on the roof. You take the two on the left, I take the two on the right. On my go._

Both Markus and Pyrrha aligned their sights to the furthest target, all of the sentries were facing them, despite being ignorant of their presence. Markus spoke in the deepest, most hushed whisper.

"Three..two...one...go."

In the span of two seconds, four suppressed thuds were heard, four bodies hit the floor, their aura depleted.

Stage 2. Now was for the less sane part of the plan. Unfortunately, this was interrupted by the loud whirring of machinery. Fearing this to be the result of their incapacitating the guards, they both ducked behind the barrier. When noise continued with no indication that it, or anything else, was getting closer, they peeked out again. The Paladins were moving. That was bad.

Why they were moving was unknown. They could be simply moving the Paladins from one place to another; they could be training pilots; or, they could be mobilizing. If the Paladins were mobilizing for an operation, they would need to be stopped at all costs. The amount of damage one of those could do against a civilian target would be catastrophic. Since neither Markus nor Pyrrha had any way of knowing what exactly the White Fang were planning, Markus assumed the worst. So, he materialized two weapons and handed one to Pyrrha.

 _We need to take those out._

 _Why?_

 _They could be prepping for a terror attack._

 _We don't know that._

 _Do you want to risk it?_

 _No._

 _Aim for the joints and, try not to hit anyone with that._

 _Why?_

The Courier materialized a clip of supersonic dust .50 cal rounds. He removed a round.

 _Aura won't stop one of these._

Pyrrha's eyes widened at the implication.

 _So you're saying…_

 _Yes. One of these is likely to be lethal. We're losing time. Ready?_

She swallowed visibly.

 _Ready._

The Lone Courier took aim at the Paladin on the left with his Barrett XM109. It would be its first field test. He would typically not use something for the first time in situation as critical as this, but it was one of the few weapons short of a rocket launcher that would be capable of harming one of these mechs.

"Fire at will," said Markus. Twin sonic booms rent the air, as the knee of the left Paladin and the arm of the right shattered from a high caliber impact. The dust rounds fired shrapnel throughout the crowded building but aura protect the terrorist from anything more than fleshwounds.

Markus was unwilling to use VATS so close to Pyrrha as to be honest, he had no way of explaining it. The explanation _he_ had been given was not from the most reliable source nor was he entirely convinced of it. So now, both he and Pyrrha were firing rapidly at the Paladins, trying to incapacitate the machines before they were located. The shattering of the enormous window and the continued firing of anti-materiel rifles had disoriented the White Fang. Most were stumbling about, seeking cover before attempting to discern what was even going on.

Markus managed to get a hit on one of the center Paladin's optical sensors, partially blinding that one. Pyrrha had a much lower fire rate than he did, largely because the Hécate II was bolt-action. The primary reason that he had Pyrrha using the .50 cal rather than the 25mm was the recoil. The recoil from the XM109 was massive and there was a very real danger of breaking one's shoulder when firing from anything but a prone position. As they were currently firing from a crouch, Markus was unwilling to take that chance with Pyrrha. Even with the fact that she was protected by aura, it would certainly have left a few bruises. Even with the .50 cal, there was still a very good chance of some injury, however they were low on options.

Of course, it was not long before a plethora of lasers illuminated their position, temporarily blinding them.

"Oh shit," said Markus bitterly.

* * *

 **AN:** So, this is the fight I have engineered for team MRPN or well, Markus and Pyrrha at least. Now, the real question. Should I include power armor? I can easily not, if it would be better used at a different time. Probably best to leave feedback in the forum as then others can comment on it. In regards to general criticism or advice, leave a review, that's what they're for.


	48. Chapter 48 - Search and Destroy

Chapter 47 - Search and Destroy

This was not what Pyrrha was expecting when she had volunteered to help team RWBY fight crime. To be honest, she wasn't sure what exactly she was expecting but, as she lay across from her partner with heavy machine gun fire filling the air above the duo, Pyrrha concluded that this was most certainly not it.

"Eyes to the ground!" Markus yelled, his voice strangely unstrained despite the fact he was yelling over gunfire and succeeded in making himself easily heard. Pyrrha complied, trusting that her partner knew what he was doing. This was not the time for questions.

The Courier tossed a flashbang over the rapidly diminishing ledge. He knew that Faunus had enhanced perception and night vision. What he was banking on, was that this would also make them more susceptible to the effects of the flashbang.

His logic held up, as when the flashbang detonated, the lasers scattered and he heard an assortment of cries of pain. That sounded promising. He had enough flashbangs to go for hours. Markus then heard something less promising. A deep male voice yelled, "Target the supports!"

The Lone Courier stored both the Hécate II and the XM109 in his Pip-boy before grabbing Pyrrha in a more firm version of the support carry and sprinting left across the the roof to dive through the window of an adjacent factory. Behind them, the building they had previously been on slowly collapsed inward on itself as explosions and a subsequent plume of dust rose from the lower floors. Most of the supporting beams had been destroyed by rockets, though a few were cleanly sliced with near laser precision.

Once the bullets stopped flying, the White Fang were unsure if their stratagem had been successful, and Pyrrha's adrenaline began to die down slightly. The first thing that Pyrrha noticed, was how uncomfortably close she was to her leader. On account of the awkward way they had landed, Pyrrha was now on top of Markus. And she was very much flustered by it.

He put a single finger to his lips, outwardly oblivious to her discomfort. Their faces' were only a few inches apart. Markus then whispered to her, "Stay below the window." Well, whatever was left of the window, after a couple of people dove through it. Pyrrha rolled to the right, off of her leader and onto her back. She exhaled in relief that that had gone about as well as it had. Her relative inexperience in social situations made her unsure of how to act much of the time and she often worried of doing something that would forever ruin any of the few friendships she had.

Markus on the other hand, was (and had been) totally absorbed in the tactical precariousness of this situation. It was imperative that the White Fang lose track of them. He did not want to have to resort to desperate dynamics of teen relationships was about the furthest thing from his mind.

"Go right!," he said, crawling to the left side of the shattered window.

Upon arriving at their respective destinations, both of them stood up and took positions at the wall. Pyrrha unslung her still silenced rifle.

"What now?," she asked.

"We split up, take out their foot soldiers, and meet back here. Maintain a low profile and use skirmish tactics. Keep moving from cover to cover and the Paladins will be useless. Good luck."

"Uh huh," said Pyrrha in both confusion and acknowledgement. Before she could ask for further clarification on things such as what "skirmish tactics" entailed, she realized her partner was gone. Evidently only paying attention to the latter inflection on Pyrrha's words.

Now, the Lone Courier figured that disappearing right in front of Pyrrha was likely a bad idea. So, he didn't use the stealth suit. Instead, he simply dropped to a lower level of the building.

The range of engagement was close enough that using Maria was entirely feasible. One thing he had learned is that aura typically requires deliberate projection in order to be used even defensively. That did not mean that it did not protect passively, only that it was far weaker, meaning that it was far easier to incapacitate hostiles if they did not seen him coming.

He held both Maria and his trench knife in a tactical grip. The White Fang were combing the ruins of the factory they had previously been on, looking to confirm his and Pyrrha's deaths. The Paladins were using their lights to help search but the alert was down. It appeared that the White Fang assumed that they were dead. So much the better.

He closed upon the ruins, walking through debris filled street, and seeing a couple of White Fang grunts, he promptly dropped them with a double tap to their respective heads. They crumpled almost soundlessly, but the Courier kept moving. He had no time to hide the unconscious terrorists, especially with Pyrrha acting independently. He hoped he was not overestimating his partner when he had them split up.

His reasoning for splitting up was that it was unexpected. Because when the enemy last saw them, they were together, it would be expected that they would remain so. Combine this with the constant movement characteristic of skirmish tactics and the White Fang would notice their soldiers stop responding in a variety of locations only seconds apart. Hopefully this would frustrate any organized response that White Fang could muster.

As he saw a larger group of terrorists he switched to his silenced MP5 before gunning them down. His consciously kept his aim at torso height, in an effort to ensure the raid remained non-lethal. Of course, this didn't work perfectly. Some of them required another few bullets to keep down. Unfortunately this provided an opportunity for them to make enough noise to attract attention. The Lone Courier sprinted away. By the time they found the unconscious bodies of their comrades, he would be gone.

He encountered another couple of White Fang troopers. Markus smashed the stock of the submachine gun into the face of the first and carefully fired into the chest of the other, being extremely careful to use exactly as many rounds as were needed. This whole "nonlethal" thing was ridiculously risky, even for him. Still, he was unwilling to risk alienating the entirety of Beacon just to avoid difficulty.

He still did not know how long it would take for the downed White Fang to recover in the first place. This whole thing might well be a pointless endeavor. Still, based on the fact that he had not yet seen a large group of Faunus in Grimm masks running at him yelling, "Get him!", things were going relatively well. His tactic was working. Of course, that was until he heard gunshots. Unsuppressed gunshots. Pyrrha's weapon was suppressed.

Well shit had certainly hit the fan. The shots came from the center of the recently collapsed factory. There was only one person that could have elicited that response. Predicting close quarters combat, the Lone Courier switch to Maria and his trench knife. Markus unscrewed his silencer. He knew he wouldn't be needing it.

 **AN:** I tried to incorporate more variance in me know how this worked or if it was confusing. This chapter is fairly short because I felt that I needed more time to plan out how this battle will go as I want it to be relevant in the long term rather than just a cheap action sequence. Writing Pyrrha is surprisingly easy because there only four things we really know about her. 1.)She is socially awkward 2.)She is headstrong 3.)She is famous 4.)She is skilled. All of these are very broad and fairly easy to write. Someone like Weiss or Ruby are more complicated as they are developing throughout the series. Pyrrha is canonically more static. That's not to say that I won't be writing others' perspectives.


	49. Chapter 49 - What Are The Odds?

**AN:** It's kind of funny, with how bullets are portrayed in RWBY, Dust rounds should have about the fps of nerf guns. This is not based on the abilities of the characters in their bullet dodging/deflecting. This is based on the fact that it takes a good couple seconds for a round to cross a small room.

Chapter 48 - What Are The Odds?

 _A few minutes earlier_

With her leader gone and confused by her instructions, Pyrrha was left largely to her own devices. Now, it should be mentioned that said devices were a considerable force in their own right. While Pyrrha had little experience outside the arena, the White Fang grunts were particularly unintelligent and she was anything but. She landed on one knee. _Time to improvise,_ she thought to herself, unaware of how cliché that was.

 _Right, the important thing is to stay undetected,_ Pyrrha thought as she incapacitated about six White Fang members in about two seconds, her sword a blur. She kept running, the Paladins still out of sight. A couple more Faunus in front of her were taken care of with her javelin. Things were going swimmingly.

The Paladins were in view now, all still functional but turned the other way. They were assisting the search through the rubble that was once the factory they had watched the White Fang from. Pyrrha was currently next to the factory that had been occupied by the White Fang, however the rubble from the collapse of the building severely limited visibility, both from broken pieces of concrete and the dust that hung in the air. No more than twenty feet in any direction were visible. The rest was obscured by a dull cloud. It was with a chill that Pyrrha realized that the White Fang were searching the rubble to confirm the deaths of both her and Markus. While she had always known that the White Fang were terrorists and would show no mercy, it was only beginning to sink in that these people were trying to kill her. It was something that brought a rush of very confused emotions to her with both fear and anger having prominent place among them.

There were far too many lights searching the ruins for Pyrrha to even consider going that way. While she was confident in her ability to defeat an indefinite amount of White Fang troopers, there was no way of doing it without attracting the attention of the Paladin. Besides, she did not know if any higher ranking members of the organization were present.

As she ran searching for more targets, she transformed her weapon back to its rifle stage. As she got closer to the White Fang's base and further from the ruins, the range increased. She did not want to try to take out a half dozen people from fifty feet away with a sword, or even her javelin. There was a reason it transformed into a rifle afterall.

Her progress was cut short by a very disruptive interruption as far as interruptions went. This particular interruption was a tall man, a good few inches taller than her in fact, wearing a peculiar Grimm mask. This particular mask had a variety of red symbols on it; indeed, the entirety of the man's dress was abnormal for a member of the White Fang: rather than the simply greys and whites that were the typical attire of the group, he wore a color scheme of black and red. He had appeared in front of her seemingly from nowhere. Both looked at each other for a second.

"I found one!" she heard him yell in a surprisingly deep and raspy voice as she rolled into cover, a shotgun blast filling the space she had previously occupied. _Well that went poorly._ She needed to end this quickly, and leave before help could arrive. This would be settled in close quarters: a melee fight. She transformed Miló into its xiphos form and stepped out of cover, ready to face her opponent. With her semblance, she should be untouchable. Only there was one problem: her opponent was nowhere to be found.

If she had later been asked what caused her to look up, Pyrrha would have been at an utter loss. The closest explanation she could give was that it was an act of instinct. The sight of the black and crimson man with his sword bared descended upon her. She rolled forward and turned around. The two opponents circled each other, face to face once more. Pyrrha, knowing time was against her, in a split second transformed Miló into its javelin form and hurled it at her enemy. As predicted, the man dodged with unusual agility. This however, opened an opportunity for Pyrrha with her newly recalled, and now in sword form, weapon to close the distance and attack. An attack which was met by air a another barely dodged shotgun blast. The man's sheath had the dual function of being a shotgun which was not that significant alone. What was significant was the fact that he kept the blade in its sheath when not striking. A highly peculiar move, and one that was only possible with a very high level of agility. It was clear to Pyrrha that she was dealing with someone dangerously skilled.

With this realization, came the reality that there was absolutely no way that she could defeat him before reinforcements arrived. So, she decided to attempt to disengage. Pyrrha took a couple steps backwards before firing three rounds in his general direction. The suppressing fire had little effect as just as she had done so, a squad of White Fang arrived firing towards her. She retreated further into the ruins as rounds impacted around her.

This was bad, very bad. An open engagement with an entire base of terrorist even without the Paladins and whoever this guy in the red mask was, could only ever end one way. Taking out literally hundreds of combatants was a bit beyond even her considerable skills. While she didn't have much of a plan before, now she had literally nothing. This was not the kind of pressure she was used to operating under. There was a very real chance of death at this rate. All she could do now was retreat deeper into the ruins of the factory and hope something changed that would provide her with an opportunity. Hoping things that would get better was not much of a strategy but it was all she had.

Judging by the man in the red mask that appeared in front of her again and the three paladins in various states of damage flanking him as well as the countless White Fang that she presumed were there though she could not see them, thing had just gotten a whole lot worse.

 **AN:** Had to stop it here, next chapter is a major fight between Adam, Pyrrha, Markus, and three fairly damaged Paladins and a bunch of White Fang redshirts who have an IQ somewhere between a retired NFL player and a potato. As a side note, after rewatching things like "Breach" and the season 3 intro, there seems to be no good reason the Grimm are still a threat, especially if that giant fleet we see in the intro is a thing. It should be a fairly simple matter of just basically steamrolling the Grimm. So far, they don't seem to be even remotely a threat.


	50. Chapter 50 - Never Tell Me The Odds

Chapter 49 - Never Tell Me The Odds

And so, Markus ran deeper into the rubble, dispatching any White Fang he saw with a hail of unsuppressed 9mm rounds. He made sure to use full metal jacket rounds in case any pierced his enemies' aura, giving them the best chance of survival. At this point his objective was finding Pyrrha. The whole operation had gone sideways. Getting her out of their would both get a weight off his mind and allow him use some of his less explicable equipment.

He realized that, quite annoyingly, that even if he got Pyrrha to escape, he would still not be able to use deadly force. If a bunch of White Fang ended up reported dead at this location the next day, he would have a lot of explaining to do. Of course for all his thinking (or perhaps because of it), he was not quite prepared for the situation he had just run into.

Of course, said situation was one that he could safely put in his "list of worst situations" pretty handily. Three Paladin, a strangely dressed White Fang member with some sort of katana, and about a dozen White Fang footsoldiers. All looking at him. Well, on the bright side, he had found Pyrrha.

Well, the Courier was always one for quick thinking so, he did they first thing that came to mind: he put his sunglasses on. Then, he threw a flashbang into the center of the group. _Sorry Pyrrha,_ he thought, _you'll have to take this one for the team._ While he was far enough away for both the light and the sound to have a diminished effect on him, both his eyes and ears hurts though unlike those closer to the blast, he was still standing. Then, in a moment of self-declared genius inspiration, he sprinted to Pyrrha, pushed a stealth-boy onto her wrist and said, "Run. I'll be fine. Get somewhere safe." Pyrrha, confused and disoriented, complied. A push from the Courier ensured she did not run headfirst into a Paladin.

Despite his experience tracking invisible targets, Markus lost sight of Pyrrha fairly quickly. Besides, he did not have time to worry about her now that she was immediately out of harm's way. The other White Fang were getting to their feet. Evidently the effects of the flashbang lasted longer on faunus than they did on humans. The Lone Courier backpedaled towards cover, laying down a hail of suppressing fire at the downed terrorists.

While the cameras that provided external viewing for the pilots of the Paladins afforded no protection from the blinding flash generated by the flashbang, the layers of metal served to insulate them to a degree from the sound emitted by the device. So, while their superior faunus hearing meant that they were more harmed than a human would have been, they still managed to recover faster than the rest.

And that meant that machine gun fire was now chewing up Markus's cover at a rate not conducive to his continued survival. He examined his options. He could use the XM109 to take out the pilots of the Paladins. Cons: If it penetrates, it would likely be lethal. If the armor is too strong, it's a waste of time. Not enough time to shoot all the cannons off. Option two, his stealth suit. Admittedly, this was the easiest option. They would never be able to find him. However, with the poor aim and sheer volume of fire being directed at him, exiting cover, even while invisible was more likely than not going to end with him hit and his stealth suit damaged. While he had taken many risks in his life, he liked to think that none were strategically or morally unnecessary. Besides, his stealth suit was the most strategically powerful piece of equipment (excluding his Pip-boy of course) that he owned, and using it here was bound to alert the White Fang of his ability to become invisible. They could then attempt counter measures. He was unwilling to tip his hand in a battle as strategically insignificant as this one. That left the last tactic: Shock and Awe.

So, as the missiles of the Paladins impacted the location where their prey was hiding and a cloud of dust and disintegrated concrete filled the air, the White Fang were surprised to discover a bulking, bipedal silhouette standing where their target's cover once was. Of course, they were more surprised when a volley of rockets emanated from the figure. Thirteen rockets. However, these were not aimed at the Paladins no, these impacted all around the White Fang grunts, the dust based projectiles freezing or igniting the hapless poorly trained radicals.

To anyone who was paying attention to the figure, the sudden appearance and just as sudden disappearance of the actual launcher would have been a cause of curiosity. However, fortunately for the Lone Courier, between the debris in the air and the glare of the rockets, no one was quite paying attention to what exactly he had in his hands. Still, the Paladins were firing at him. While the bullets sparked off of his sloped ceramic armor, even his modified T-51b had its limits. To abate this constant barrage of lead and dust, he sprinted towards the nearest one. The Paladins were unable to track his servo-enhanced movement with their unwieldy barrels. Clearly their weapons were intended to be fired at masses of foes rather than track a single, speedy target.

Some rounds from the one he was closing on bounced off of him as he ran, but the vast majority hit the ground in front or behind him. The other two fired into the empty space behind him. Of course, the firing in front of him stopped after he smashed the weakly armored knee joint of the Paladin before climbing up the now crippled mech to literally rip the door of the cockpit off and throw the pilot at the man with the red glyphs on his mask. The man dodged easily though he was still some distance away. Intending to repeat the process with the next one, the Courier rushed towards the other two Paladins, now closer together. It was out of the corner of his eye that he perceived a red blade, causing him to drop into a crouch to dodge. The apparent leader (of this local operation at least) was intervening. It had taken him long enough. The Lone Courier sent a probing jab as a counter. Ordinarily, he would use his ballistic fist. However, leaving three shotgun holes in this man's chest or caving in part of his body were two things that he very much needed to avoid doing if there was any chance Pyrrha could find out he did it.

Of course, the probing attack was dodged with ease and the man retaliated with a rapid series of strikes that the Courier dodged with ease. His opponent sent a side slice at Markus whom stopped it with the bracer of his armor. They stared at each other. In an instant, Red Glyphs had withdrawn his sword and fired a shotgun blast from his sheath against the armor. The dust pellets ricocheted everywhere and exploded like miniature fireworks. It was laughable that he had even tried to penetrate any kind of body armor with a shotgun. Owing to the danger of friendly fire, both the Paladins had stopped firing, however both hovered waiting for an opportunity to strike.

Both Markus and his opponent circled each other. Markus is a more relaxed stance. It was clear from the man's posture that he was uncertain of how to hurt him. Both of Red Glyphs's weapons had failed to do more than scratch his armor. Of course, then the Lone Wanderer remembered something. He summoned his own katana. Now he went on the offensive. All the Lone Wanderer did, was a single overhead cleave. It was fast enough the dodging was not an option. Red Glyphs blocked it. The Courier smiled in satisfaction as the man's aura was drained from the continuous electrocution Jingwei's Shocksword outputted. The man slumped to the ground, twitching slightly. The plan had worked.

Markus could not tell whether he was unconscious or not, nor did he have time to check as upon seeing their leader losing, both the Paladin pilots had decided they no longer cared about friendly fire. The Courier threw Jingwei's Shocksword at the left Paladin's center, right below the cockpit. It embedded in the weak joint and sparked, creating an open current that caused the machine to start having the electronic equivalent of a seizure. Once he had closed to the rightmost Paladin, this time jumping on its back. With his left hand he held the back of the missile turret. Beyond his eye's depth of field, the other Paladin totally stopped functioning. He ripped the covering off of the ammo storage on the Paladin with his right hand. It was much more difficult than it should have been. Evidently his forearm's servos had been damaged. That must have been a sharp blade. No matter, he punched the detonation cap of one of the rockets and it exploded like a shaped charge, blowing the cockpit cleanly off of the rest of the mech and sending the unconscious pilot into the rubble. He walked to the remains of the shorted Paladin and retrieved Jingwei's Shocksword. He felt he would have further use for it. The sound of sirens in the distance was his cue to leave. As he walked into one of the abandoned factories he changed back into his usual checkered suit.

Unbeknownst to all, Pyrrha was watching from their earlier rendezvous point the entire time. Seeing the fight end, she hurried away with a lot of questions and no good way of asking them.


	51. Chapter 51 - One More Such Victory

**AN:** well the new episode of RWBY has some useful elements. Cinder hacking around Atlas Lone Courier style. The increased emphasis on Pyrrha I think will be a good thing for BoW as she is the person Markus interacts with the most. The more stuff she does, the more Markus is involved. They also confirmed that Atlas is more Prussian than Prussia with the army literally possessing a state. That also makes Ironwood a benevolent dictator as it has been confirmed that he's not evil. Anyway, if you want to discuss it further I made a forum topic for it.

* * *

Chapter 50 - One More Such Victory...

* * *

Pyrrha's scroll beeped. Message from her partner:

 _Location?_

 _On my way to the dorm,_ she responded.

 _Confirmed._

Her statement was not exactly a lie, as she _was_ heading towards the dorm. However, she made no implication that she was only slightly ahead of Markus. Her running easily outstripped his walking. She had lost sight of him once she had left the building they had previously intended to rendezvous in but she was certain that her pace was sufficient in getting her back first. _He_ had no reason to hurry after all.

As Pyrrha arrived at the dorm, she realized that while she knew what she saw, she did not know what she would do with the information. Was she going to ask "So, where did you get that armor?" or, what was that thing that made me invisible?" She knew what his evasive answer was to that already. The more she learned about Vault-tec, the stranger it seemed. So, Pyrrha decided to do something uncharacteristically devious. She would keep quiet and do some digging. If her partner would not give her answers, she would just have to find them herself.

She already had a lead, in the form of the device that was used to make her invisible. By now, it was entirely non-functional. Upon entering the room, she stowed it somewhere out of sight. Nora was sitting on her bed with her eyes closed and headphones on, and did not notice Pyrrha's entrance. Ren on the other hand was very much awake albeit tired from managing Nora on a stealth mission.

Pyrrha just fell into her own bed, physically exhausted. Despite her hyper stimulated mind, she fell into a deep sleep filled with vivid, nonsensical dreams.

The Lone Courier would not return to the door until far later that night, having taken a more unobtrusive method of travel.

* * *

It was the next day when Markus watched the match between Pyrrha and team CRDL. CRDL were all respectable fighters individually, however their teamwork was lacking. Therefore it meant that they had never had any chance against an opponent as skilled as Pyrrha. Her agility and apparent telekinesis meant it was rare she even needed to use her shield.

Now, that's not to say the Lonce Courier liked what he was seeing. The entire fight was very much a gladiatorial spectacle rather than a combat simulation. Pyrrha's agility was largely used to dodge attacks by means of needless acrobatics that would prove a lethal liability against an opponent of even roughly equivalent skill. Despite the fight only lasting a minute and a half or so, dispatching four (effectively) unarmored targets should take seconds. When performing special operations, high speed low drag was a necessity.

"And that's the match," Goodwitch was saying, "Well done Ms. Nikos, you should have no problem qualifying for the tournament."

"Thank you Professor."

The Courier as well could not quite get over how poorly she dressed. Tactically, not aesthetically. Her outfit was quite aesthetically pleasing but was actually a tactical hindrance. She wore some form of corset which unless it was specifically made not to, would stifle her breathing. She wore some strange form of tiara rather than a helmet. As a helmet is probably the most important part of armor, this was something that could easily be lethal. Of course, the most ridiculous of all, she wore heels. How they didn't break, or she trip was another mystery to modern science. His internal safety rant done, Markus returned his attention to the present.

"Alright now I know that's a tough act to follow, but we have time for one more sparring match. Any volunteers?" asked Goodwitch.

"Miss Belladonna?" she picked on Blake, who looked as though she would rather be anywhere else on the planet right now, "You've been rather docile for the past few classes. "

 _Belladonna,_ thought Markus, _Pretty flower" Italian._

"Why don't you-" Goodwitch was cut off.

"I'll do it," said a boy.

"Mercury, is it?" said Goodwitch, "Very well. Let's find you an opponent."

"Actually I want to fight...her," he pointed at Pyrrha.

"Me?"

"I'm afraid Ms. Nikos has just finished a match. I recommend you choose another partner."

"No! It's fine," said Pyrrha, "I'd be happy to oblige."

Markus found it a little strange he did not recognize Mercury, but found the fact that he wanted to fight Pyrrha more concerning. There were two options. Either he was arrogant, which did not seem to be beyond him based on his manner of speech, or he was engaging in some covert reconnaissance. Why he might be scouting Pyrrha could be for the relatively innocent reason of getting an advantage in the tournament to details for an assassination. So far however, the Courier had yet to see anything that indicated he was anything other than an arrogant teenager.

Mercury took up a fighting stance across from Pyrrha. He was not visibly armed. That worried the Courier. It was typically assassins that appeared unarmed but had many hidden weapons. Something a Pip-boy was invaluable for.

He charged Pyrrha who blocked with her shield. A gunblast discharged from his ankle but failed to hit anything. He landed on his back before flipping away.

Pyrrha then attacked. Quite impressively, Mercury blocked all of her strikes using whatever devices were on his ankles. The Courier idly wondered why he wouldn't have a similar set of devices for his wrists and failed to come any conclusions other than Mercury being an assassin or an idiot.

He then attacked with a relentless flurry of kicks that succeeded in keeping Pyrrha on the defensive and eventually disarming her, leaving her with only her shield. Markus realized she had some form of telekinesis meaning that the loss of her weapon was meaningless. Why she didn't use it to immediately retrieve the weapon he did not know. Instead, she used it to prevent one of Mercury's kicks from connecting before retrieving her sword manually.

She charged at him, using a discharge from her weapon to sent him flying back. As she charged at him, be stood up, turned to Goodwitch and said, "I forfeit."

Well that basically confirmed he was up to something. The fight was nowhere near over, and unless he already knew about Pyrrha's semblance, her usage of it had been subtle enough that he should not have been able to detect its influence.

"You don't even want to try?" asked Pyrrha. Mercury's next sentence confirmed he was up to something.

"What's the point? You're a world renowned fighter. We're obviously leagues apart."

This showed that if he was smart enough to know this he must have had some ulterior motive. Markus would be watching Mercury, and keeping an eye on Pyrrha as well, for her own safety.

"In that case, Pyrrha Nikos is the victor of the match. Again. Next time you may want to think a little harder before choosing an opponent."

Apparently Goodwitch had not noticed the facetiousness with which he had uttered his lack statement.

"I'll be sure to do that," he said, walking away.

"That is all for today," said Goodwitch, a beeping signalling the end of class, "and remember, the dance is this weekend but you all have your first mission on Monday. I will not accept any excuses."

Well, neither of those things held any real relevance to Markus. A dance with no one of any power he could win to his cause and a mission about something that was unlikely to be strategically relevant. He was predicting a halt in progress over the next few days. Still, at least he had the debriefing with team RWBY to look forward to. Hopefully they would have gotten some useful information.

* * *

 **AN:** One thing I noticed when examining this story for realism, was that it might require some suspension of disbelief believe the effectiveness of the Lone Courier in comparison to the year or so that he has been in the wastes. It would seem impossible for him to have gotten as good as he has in so short a time. The epiphany I had when considering this plot hole, was that the reason he is as skilled as he is, is because he would be dead if he wasn't. If the Lone Courier was not as fast a learner as he is, he would never have survived. The fact that he did this is because he is an extraordinary individual, the kind that history books are filled with. The second epiphany was that this is canonically true of all Lone Wanderers. If the Lone Wanderer was not canonically hyper skilled in adaptability, he would not be able to successfully transition from the safety of a Vault to the Wasteland with no real combat training. Therefore, a universal canonical trait of the Lone Wanderer is adaptability.

* * *

 **Obligatory: Whooo! Fifty Chapters!**


	52. Chapter 52 - Attempted Atlas

**AN:** The title of the last chapter was an allusion to Pyrrhus of Epirus' quote "One more such victory and we are undone." This was referring to Pyrrha's victory over Mercury and how while she won, it was strategically bad as the baddies now have valuable information: Pyrrha achieved a tactical victory that will lead to strategic defeat.

 **Response to Reviews:**

Buzmey: The reason Markus did not use the AR scanner is because its threat classification system is highly generalized and redundant if he can see someone in action. Especially considering he knows Pyrrha to be classified as high threat. Therefore anyone who can hold their own against Pyrrha is also a high threat. That in itself doesn't provide him with tactical information. Examination of Mercury's fighting style does.

The reason he did not retrieve the stealth-boy from Pyrrha is that 1.) It's useless now 2.) He wants avoid discussing the events of the night as much as possible and will be as vague as possible. Remember, he does not know that Pyrrha knows anything.

Chapter 51 - Attempted Atlas

After the end of the day, both team RWBY and team MRPN went to team RWBY's room. It had become their de facto meeting location. They ensured that they all took different routes and arrived at different times. While the Courier realized that this was pointless, it was Ruby who had suggested it and a bit of security theater never hurt anyone.

Nora and Ren were the last ones into the room. No one bothered to ask why as at this point Nora's antics were expected.

Markus noticed that Blake was suffering severely from fatigue and sleep deprivation, and from the sideways glances the rest of her team gave her, he was not the only one that had noticed. He really hoped that he would not have to deal with _that_ issue. Any advice he might give in anything other than morals would be very much "do as I say, not as I do" kind of rhetoric.

While they had been waiting for the rest of the members of their little group to arrive, team RWBY had been staging their own little intervention.

"You what!?" said Blake.

"We want you to go to the dance," said Ruby.

"That's ridiculous," said Blake. And to be fair, to the Courier, it was.

"Blake," said Yang, "we're worried about you. This investigation is starting to mess with your head." It was true that Blake did not seem to have the constitution to match her zeal for this investigation though this did nothing to abate her tenacity.

"You can't sleep, you hardly eat, and to be honest, your grades have been suffering," rattled off White. Not eating was an ill advised decision on Blake's part. If you are to exert yourself it is best to consume the necessary fuel.

"You think I care about grades?," said Blake,"People's lives are at stake!"

Markus really had absolutely no desire to get involved so he merely sat around analyzing their arguments and forming judgement based upon them. And he was bored.

While Blake was correct in that lives took precedence over something as trivial as grades, Markus failed to see why she felt it was _her_ duty to deal with a terrorist organization. Was is guilt from past deeds? Was she looking for absolution for something she had done while in the White Fang?

No matter what the answer was, there were people whose job it was to deal with that kind of thing. Trained huntsmen, law enforcement, the military, him. Her efforts, while admirable, were not capable of making a strategic difference unless she possessed a unique skill of some sort.

"We know," said Yang, "and we're all still trying to figure out what Torchwick is up to." Ruby successfully transitioned from the argument about Blake to a report of their findings.

"Thanks to you and Sun, we know their operating somewhere outside of Southeast Vale.

"And the Schnee company record singled out Vale as the primary target for dust robberies over the last few months," said Weiss.

"I saw the same," said Markus addressing the group, "all attempted Dust robberies by the White Fang occurred exclusively in Vale."

While the Courier had since been paranoidly careful since the kidnapping and execution of some of his employees, the White Fang still managed to attempt raids. The frequency with which cargo was moved meant all they found were empty buildings. The Lone Courier hoped eventually they'd give up.

"Don't forget their missing military tech too," said Yang.

"Missing military tech?" asked Pyrrha, she and Markus exchanged a glance, both wondering the same thing.

"Torchwick stole a Paladin," said Ruby.

"Anyone know how many?" asked Markus.

"There were quite a few in boxes where we were," said Ren as Nora played with string, "I don't know the exact number but it's not insignificant."

"But there's still unanswered questions," said Blake, redirecting the conversation.

"Blake," said Ruby, "you won't be able to find anything if you can't even keep your eyes open."

"All we're asking is that you take it easy for one day," said Yang.

That wasn't great advice, though the Courier really didn't feel like being the voice of wisdom.

"It will be fun," said Weiss, "Yang and I will make sure of it."

"Yeah!," said Yang, "We're planning the whole event."

The Courier had to resist the urge to facepalm. He relaxed a little when he realized that they _should_ be having fun at a dance. It's what kids were supposed to do. To be fair he thought it's what _he_ should be doing. But that was not who he was. He had seen too much. He had done too much.

"Excuse me?" said Blake.

"Team CFVY's away mission lasted longer than expected," said Weiss.

Yang continued,"So Weiss and I were asked to pick up where they left off. And now we can make sure you have the perfect night."

"And once it's all over, we'll return to our search, rested and ready. _Sure,_ thought the Courier, _Nothing says "rested and ready" like teenagers the morning after a dance._

"So what do you think?" asked Ruby.

"I think this is a colossal waste of time," said Blake, disregarding the efforts of her teammates, she turned to team MRPN, "What did you discover?"

Markus decided to give general information about their objectives. "The White Fang were present at both locations we investigated. Ren."

"The location Nora and I investigated was used largely as a way station between larger more important bases."

"I pretended to be a sloth," said Nora happily.

"Markus and I found a more significantly sized base. There were three more Paladins there," said Pyrrha.

Team RWBY looked alarmed at the amount Paladins that the White Fang had access to. This was not helping Blake's obsession.

"The Paladins were in use upon our arrival. I feared they were preparing for an imminent terror attack. We executed a preemptive strike."

"Preemptive strike?," asked Yang, unfamiliar with the term.

"We rendered the Paladins inoperable and incapacitated all forces there including their leader. We left just before law enforcement arrived," said Markus completely missing the point of her question.

"Leader?," asked Blake, suddenly hyper attentive.

"He had a red mask," said Pyrrha.

"A mask with red glyphs," corrected Markus.

Blake mouthed something even Markus could not catch, before running to the door, just before leaving she said, "I-I'll be in the library."

"Are there waffles in the library?,"asked Nora with a perfectly straight face.

"Wait," said White, "How did you take out _three_ Paladins?" While the heiress was loath to admit it, team RWBY had enough trouble with one of the mechs, taking on three seemed impossible.

"We had the advantage of surprise," said Pyrrha.

"And a couple of anti-materiel rifles," said Markus.

"Where did you-" asked White before she cut herself off.

Markus tapped his Pip-boy.

"Anything else you have in there?," asked Pyrrha innocently.

"Only half an armory and as many prototypes." A professionally evasive answer.

"Wow," said Yang, "wish I had one."

"I'll see what I can do."

And Markus meant it. Yang brought up something he had not yet considered. If he found a way to mass produce Pip-boys, or simply found a large enough stockpile of them, he could solve many of the Wastelands problems. Of course, giving his friends- no allies was a better word- them would be the first priority. He felt that while both his own team and team RWBY considered him a friend, he felt it would be wrong for him to consider them the same when he considered that everything they knew about him was a lie.

"Well that covers it," said Ruby, "I declare this meeting...adjourned!" she pointed dramatically at nothing, "We'll meet after our first mission, since we won't really have any time."

Except Markus had time, almost nothing but time. And that was bad. When his mind was not occupied by a task it was occupied by memories. It was why the nightmares came.

Pyrrha, for her part, also recognized the free time she had. She had evidence to acquire and a mystery to solve.

 **AN:** Needed to end it here as the rest of the episode is Jaune-centric and i therefore need to invent some original dialogue. If anyone has ideas for ordinary circumstances at Beacon that would require social interaction they would be useful for future reference. The next episode as well mainly consists of love triangle stuff that simply doesn't exist.


	53. Chapter 53 - Seeds of Suspicion

**AN:** I'm still looking for a way for Markus to _not_ put a 25mm round in Cinder's head once he sees her. The only thing I can think of is having a witness at all times. Or just say "screw it" and kill Cinder hoping she's not the big bad. I mean, to be brutally honest, Cinder is not an intimidating big bad. I mean _Ruby_ is a threat to her.

* * *

Chapter 52 - Seeds of Suspicion

* * *

Ozpin sat at his desk, alone. He was using his scroll, as usual. The headmaster was currently carefully examining a set of images from the Vale Police Department of a crime scene in an abandoned industrial district in the city. The fact that it was abandoned meant that there had not been security footage to view. All evidence was from after the attack. Ozpin would need his detective hat for this one.

Law enforcement had arrived to find dozens of incapacitated members of the White Fang. Some were able to resist, albeit with poor effectiveness, allowing others to escape. However it was still a massive amount of arrests on members of the terrorist organization. Of course, there were many things about this situation that troubled him.

Firstly, there were three-destroyed- Atlesian Paladins present, all bearing White Fang insignias. The fact that the group had been able to gain access to these prototypes was both worrying and telling of their ability.

Secondly, were the _destroyed_ Paladins. Two appeared to have been literally torn apart, while the last had all of its electrical systems fried. This was either done by a large group of people, or a few very dangerous individuals.

Finally, was the fact that there was no evidence of the assailants' identities. Initially, Ozpin had thought it was the "third party" from the gas attack. However the fact that not a drop of blood was spilled in this instance, when in the hostage rescue, the attacker did not have a problem with about two hundred people dying by his or her hand indicated otherwise.

This type of destruction was characteristic of a skilled huntsman. However, a huntsman would have the legal authority to do this, and would have no reason to remain hidden. So, the headmaster knew that whoever it was, weren't supposed to be there. He immediately suspected his students. Team RWBY were the most likely culprit based on their previous convenient timing by the docks, however camera feeds gave them an airtight alibi. Besides, he seriously doubted they were capable of this level of destruction. They had enough difficulty with a single Paladin, nevermind three of the things.

That was why the incident had Ozpin so worried. He had no idea who was behind it. There could even be a fourth party involved. Best case scenario, it was some huntsmen, or huntsmen in training, who had decided to take matters into their own hands. The fact that all of the White Fang were alive supported this theory. Still, he was now on high alert. Perhaps he might get Qrow to investigate, he mused. So far, no action was needed imminently. Whoever orchestrated this attack had goals and methods in line with his. Just because allies were unlooked for, did not mean they were unwelcome.

* * *

Back in team MRPN's room, all sat on their respective beds, save their leader, who was absent as usual. They had become accustomed to him disappearing without any explanation for varying periods of time. Pyrrha was using her scroll at an obsessive pace. She was searching for something, _anything,_ that would explain what she had witnessed. She was certain that something was not right about this. An obscure company does not have access to this much high tech equipment.

All information about Vault-tec was useless. Most of it highly technical and absolutely nothing in regards to either invisibility or man sized mech suits. However the company seemed entirely above board, more so even than the Schnee Dust Company.

Pyrrha had not had the opportunity to examine the device she had been given further. It had stopped functioning not long after she had gotten clear. She doubted she would glean anything useful from it, so for now, she looked for all the information she could find about its manufacturer.

The lack of reference to any of the things she had seen was frustrating, but not surprising. Things like that would be classified until they could be mass produced.

Giving up on finding any information related to the equipment, she changed her strategy. Instead, she decided to research her partner. Despite how long they had known each other, he was still something of an enigma to her. He was cold, colder than Weiss even, but not arrogant. There was none of the condescension and snootiness present that marred the personality of the heiress. He was even more professional than Pyrrha herself was. Despite this, he was not asocial, like Blake was, and could hold a comfortable conversation though he rarely initiated one. He was generally well liked and had a cynical sense of humor.

Not counting the previous night, Pyrrha had little information about his fighting ability. He displayed good tactical sense and exceptional marksmanship. The fight, if one could call it that, with Cardin displayed that he had large quantities of physical strength as well.

Academically, her partner got near perfect grades seemingly without any effort. When the rest of the team was studying, he was either using his scroll (Pip-boy, she reminded herself) or simply not present. He never interacted in class. If she didn't know him, she might have thought he was shy.

His appearance was strange as well. Not aesthetically, but the circumstances by which his countenance came about were very much a mystery. His skin was tanned, like someone from Vacuo, though the tan had faded since their initial encounter. There were also at least three faded scars on the upper part of his skull, the source a curiosity to her.

Pyrrha turned her thoughts to his mannerisms. Every movement he made was highly efficient and projected confidence in an imperious sort of way. At times she and the others would see him staring with unfocused eyes at an indefinite point in the distance. When this occurred he seemed totally oblivious to everything around him. His ability to stop the argument, permanently, between Weiss and Blake without taking sides had left the rest of the teams impressed with his ability as a peacemaker. This further hinted that there was more to him than they knew.

Information she found about Markus was surprisingly sparse. He maintained a remarkably low profile for the heir to a highly successful company. No achievements or statements. Not even the rumors that typically surrounded affluent individuals existed.

Despite the peculiarities Pyrrha noticed, she was unable to draw any conclusions from them because, well, she was neither a detective nor a psychologist. What she did know, was that something was wrong, and her partner was hiding more than just company secrets from her.

Unsure of what to do, Pyrrha decided to pursue the last lead she had. She slipped out of the room, ignoring Ren's raised eyebrow, and headed to the roof, the invisibility device hidden in her possession. The reason she was investigating in secret was because she wasn't entirely sure she wasn't just paranoid in her suspicions that something else was going on here. It would look very bad if she was suspicious and it turned out to be nothing.

Once she arrived at her destination, she stopped and took out the device. It was a strange piece of technology, similar in design to the Pip-boy that Markus wore. It looked somewhat haphazardly put together: a prototype. There were no marks that could be used to glean more information from it, not even a serial number or manufacturer's mark. Pyrrha exhaled in frustration. Everything about indicated that it was an ordinary prototype. It had nothing to do with the mystery surrounding her partner. As far as she knew.

Pyrrha didn't typically come to the balcony. She had little reason to. Placing the troublesome device onto the edge of the balcony, she stood staring at Vale. It was a magnificent sight, far different from her home. The lights of the city combined with those of the stars painted a picturesque scene.

* * *

The Courier was on the roof, invisible. As usual. This time, he was trawling through the Atlas database in search of information about Penny. He was not comfortable with the ability to make synths in the hands of Atlas. Even more importantly was that they intended on having them "save the world". Unfortunately, progress was virtually nonexistent. It was like trying to find a needle in a haystack, except worse. The only reason he was actually trying, was the hope that his supernatural luck would kick in sooner or later.

As the full moon rose to its height, he eventually determined it was not to be and decided it was time to get the minimum rest that he needed. He found it morbidly funny how he now procrastinated going to sleep. No matter how skilled he was, he couldn't fight his mind. _The mighty Courier,_ he thought bitterly, _brought low by PTSD, afraid of his own dreams._ He found it further ironic that he faced certain death more readily than dreams.

As he approached the balcony he noticed Pyrrha, of all people, was standing there, staring silently at the elevated view of Vale the position gave her. _What was she doing?_ , he thought to himself. So he asked her.

* * *

 **AN:** As always, thanks for reading. Leave a review if you have praise or criticism. Suggestions and questions are better as either a PM or on the forum. There is a forum if you missed it by the way, it's called "The Bringer Of War Discussion", be sure to check that out.


	54. Chapter 54 - Lies for Time

**AN:** As a matter of total coincidence, Markus actually fits the "color rule" of RWBY better than intended. His last name, "Friedrich" is an allusion to Frederick (II) the Great of Prussia. Prussia's flag is black and white. Like Benny's suit. As a side note, I realized that Dust bullets would probably be banned by the Geneva conventions. Burning/freezing enemies to death is a bit of a war crime.

* * *

Chapter 53 - Lies for Time

* * *

Pyrrha jumped about three feet in the air.

"Umm..Markus!" she said, clearly caught off guard. He was standing behind her, in his usual checkered suit.

"Didn't mean to scare you, he said with some humor in his tone.

"So, what brings you up here?" he reiterated. Asking questions first would hopefully prevent Pyrrha from asking questions of her own. It was standard practice when he possessed only flimsy justification for his presence.

"Oh, just admiring the view," said Pyrrha. She was telling the truth but then, _why did she seem so uncomfortable?_

"It is impressive," he said, now standing next to her. As he looked down, he noticed why she had seemed so uneasy at his presence. On the edge of the balcony was the stealth-boy. He had almost totally forgotten it. He picked it up, pretended to examine it and placed it back down before turning to face Pyrrha.

"I assume you have questions." It was a statement, not a question. The flat tone of voice indicated that he had ready answers.

"Well…," said Pyrrha, "what is it?" This was by far the easiest question to answer.

"It's a prototype, single use, stealth field generator," he continued, preempting the question of "how", "it bends light around the user, making them nearly invisible."

"Nearly?"

"If you were to look closely, there would be a shimmering effect, similar to a heat haze. It's not perfect, but no one will find you in the heat of battle."

"I've never heard of anything like this."

"It's a recent development," he lied, "I picked it up between semesters. "Naturally, it's heavily classified. We were going to offer to sell a batch to Atlas for their Special Operators, but seeing how easily their weapons get stolen, it might not be a good idea. Just imagine the damage the White Fang could do with one of these."

With that question addressed, the duo faced the city, and fell into silence for a minute or two before Pyrrha spoke.

"Markus?"

"Yes?"

"Have you given any thought of who you're going with to the dance?"

"No. Literally none. Like Blake, I have more important things to worry about."

"Then why aren't you," Pyrrha pointed just below her eyes, alluding to Blake's dark rings and bags under hers.

"Unlike her, I know how to do it properly. Humans are remarkably inefficient when sleep deprived."

"You should tell _her_ that."

"One intervention was enough, thank you very much." Pyrrha laughed and their conversation lapsed once again. After a while, Pyrrha broke the silence with the inevitable question.

"Why are _you_ up here?"

This was _exactly_ the question he was trying to avoid. In truth, he had no good excuse for why he was up here. So he settled for being as vague as possible.

"I always go to the roof. It's where I am when I'm not with you."

"What do you _do,_ though?"

He sighed resignedly, "You know I can't tell you that."

"Can't or won't?" she said quietly.

"I…", he sighed once again, "both. I can't tell you and wouldn't if I could."

"What are you so worried about? We're all already at war with the White Fang! What could you possibly tell me to make it worse?"

"There are worse things than the White Fang," he said quietly. Like him, for example.

"I don't care how bad it is, I'm your partner, whatever's going on, it's my job to help you", she said resolutely, "Don't you trust me?" The last sentence was a blatant attempt at guilting him into telling her. Two could play at that game.

"Of course I trust you, if I didn't, I wouldn't have told you about any of this. When I say this, I'm asking you: do **you** trust me? What I am asking you, ask your leader-as your partner-as your _friend,_ " he stressed the word, "Do you trust my judgment to know when to keep a secret?"

Well, Pyrrha was painted into a corner, and she knew it. She trusted him, she had to. By linking his secrets to trust, she had to take him at his word. She didn't have many friends, and she was therefore unwilling to risk her closest one, even for something as big as this. It was not a well reasoned decision but an understandable one.

While she certainly was not intending to give up on this, she would grant him some reprieve. She still had the armor, both as ammunition and as a source of research. What was troubling, was that he mentioned something _worse than the White Fang_. However, him being her leader, she trusted that he would tell them when it was needed.

Markus knew that Pyrrha trusted him, and was far too innocent to lie about something like that for information. By tying her trust of him to his secrets, it meant that it would imply she didn't trust him if she pushed. He created a choice between two false absolutes. He felt guilty about blatantly manipulating a friend, but it was necessary. They couldn't handle the truth, none of them. Not yet.

"You can't keep secrets forever, you know," she said admonishingly.

"I know, I promise to tell all of you the second I can," he said in a serious, almost somber tone despite the fact he was lying through his teeth, "there's no point in having all of you agonizing over something you can't help."

As the moon reached its height, Markus addressed his partner once again.

"We should probably head to bed, he said," turning around. Pyrrha followed suit.

"We don't want to suffer from sleep deprivation," she said sagely.

"Besides," he said in an offhand manner, "people might start to talk. It's bad enough with me and Whi- ", he caught himself, "Weiss. No need to give Yang more ammunition." Pyrrha laughed slightly uncomfortably.

"I can see it now," Markus said, "Pyrrha and Markus meeting at midnight on the balcony. Seriously though, don't let her know, we would never hear the end of it. I still don't know how she got the Weiss thing. Is it just because I wear white?"

"You two aren't together,?" asked Pyrrha genuinely curious. While she had not investigated herself, rumors had indicated it, and her partner's absences made it entirely possible.

"Seriously, don't listen to a word that comes out of Yang's mouth," he advised, "I don't think I've actually ever had a proper conversation with Weiss." _Though I probably should,_ he thought, _I might be able to coordinate defense against White Fang raids._

Pyrrha, for a reason that she was unwilling to admit, was inwardly more pleased with this news than she felt she had any right to be. By now, they had arrived at their dorm.

"Well, goodnight Pyrrha."

"Goodnight."

With that he opened the door to the dark room.

Perhaps it was because of how late it was, but whatever the reason, the Lone Courier had little difficulty falling asleep. Though, with what waited for him, he might have preferred to have stayed restless.

* * *

 **AN:** This is basically part II of Chapter 31. At this point, the most useful/valuable forum topic is the one on the reveal. It is the most important and the one I am least decided on. Next chapter will open with a dream. I find dreams as a useful method for telling both the past and mind of the Lone Courier.


	55. Chapter 55 - Bloodstained Mind

Chapter 54 - Bloodstained Mind

* * *

 _The blood on him had long dried, though the bits of gore remained scattered across the metallic white of the T-51B. He felt little pity towards this "Legion" as they called themselves. When "Vulpes Inculta" as_ _ **he**_ _called_ _ **himself**_ _, had threatened the Courier, he had most certainly not expected Markus to possess power armor. As such, what sufficed as the man's gray matter now decorated the armor of the Courier. The Courier felt little remorse for the merciless slaughter he had just performed. In his view, he was only reciprocating that which the Legion had done upon the civilians of Nipton. Killing enemy soldiers, especially those who had committed crimes against humanity, didn't overly bother him. Now however, he came to a far more painful part of his intervention._

 _The Legion had, in a gruesomely historically accurate manner, crucified the escaped convicts that Nipton had harbored and betrayed. It had been far too long for them to be saved even had they not been his enemies. Killing non-combatants or incapacitated enemies was never easy for Markus. Killing someone who was not a threat, nor capable of being one, was a weight on his conscience._

 _Despite the fact that the Powder Gangers were very much his enemies, and despite the fact that they very likely deserved death, it still felt...wrong. He walked solemnly down the street, his 10mm feeling uncharacteristically heavy, despite his power armor. Still, he stopped in front of the first macabre monument to the brutality of the Wastes. With a steady hand and a less than steady heart, he raised his weapon. The iconic boom of a firearm echoed through the dead silence of the razed town. "Requiscat In Pace." He whispered. He repeated the process like an automaton, progressing down the street. Very quickly his armor started to turn red. His combat with the Legion had been decided largely at a longer range. As such, these mercy killings were far messier. The worst was the last one. He was still conscious._

" _Help me…" croaked the man._

" _I can't save you," the Courier's voice was pained, but did not waver, "I'm sorry."_

 _He pulled the trigger. His armor splattered in those he had killed, the Courier listlessly walked out of Nipton. "It never gets any easier, does it?" he reflected._

 _As time went on he found that he was wrong. It did get easier. And that terrified him._

* * *

The Courier was glad when he awoke. He had had enough traumatic incidents that, if nothing else, he could count on a variety of nightmares. To him, these were some of the worst. While Point Lookout and the Sierra Madre were terrifying, terror paled in comparison to guilt. While it had become easier for Markus to kill in cold blood, that made it worse if anything. While he could justify his actions as much as he wanted, but he couldn't help that he had lost count of the number of people he had killed, for whatever reason, that posed no threat, even indirectly, to him.

Putting such abstract thoughts out of his head, he got up. He had slept in more than usual, prioritizing sleep as he had nothing better to be doing. Now that he was up, he needed to figure out what exactly he would do with the day. Ten had apparently just left the shower while Nora was reading with her headphones on. Pyrrha was nowhere to be seen.

"Where's Pyrrha?" he asked, more making conversation than actually concerned about her whereabouts. Ren merely shrugged. Nora said, "I haven't seen her since she came in with you last night," her eyes narrowed, "what _were_ you two doing?"

"We had an unexpected meeting, and talked."

Nora raised an eyebrow and smirked.

The Courier, understanding what she implied, denied everything. Of course, this being Nora, the most vehement denials did nothing but fan the flames. That was or course, until Markus whispered to her, "Pyrrha and I are together as much as you and Ren are."

"We're not together together... Oh," she narrowed her eyes, "...you're _evil_ ," said Nora admitting defeat. She was somewhat in awe at how succinctly he had outmaneuvered her. He had deviously threatened to wage his own campaign of teasing against her should this continue. And if Nora knew anything about her leader, there would be no mercy. With this, she both dropped the subject and found a greater respect for her leader.

Markus, with that front of rumors closed, sat down on his bed to fiddle with his Pip-boy. The best thing he could do was to develop more useful long term products for Vault-tec. Now after much internal debate, the Courier decided that he would reinvent and produce cordite, though whether he would sell it on the open market was another matter entirely. He had found that dust rounds had poor penetrating power against aura in comparison to a gunpowder cartridge of the same caliber. Markus hypothesized that aura manipulated the dust in the bullets to decrease their velocity. Therefore gunpowder, in the form of cordite, was a far more lethal alternative.

However, if this technology became widely distributed, it would do nothing than to increase the lethality of combat; it would do nothing to advance his goals. No, if he were to use cordite for anything other than personal uses he would have to be very careful in its distribution, once it was out there, it was only a matter of time until his enemies gained access to it.

The reason he had finally decided to create cordite, was that while he had huge reserves of most ammunition types, he had comparatively few 25mm rounds. He had not expected to be using them in a semi-automatic capacity. With the size of the Grimm he had encountered, and not knowing the frequency of giant Grimm, he might need an arsenal's worth.

There was an additional reason. The ability to manufacture something that was critical to industrialized war (propellant) as a superior alternative to the conventional resource, meant that he was capable of significantly influencing the course of any war that broke out. If conventional warfare broke out between two factions, having superiorly damaging weapons could very well decide a war, providing the Courier with immense power and leverage. As things stood, with the current enemy an insurrection, any distribution of cordite would simply end up in the hands of the guerillas. In a conventional war, it would provide the edge needed to win a few decisive battles. In this kind of asymmetrical war, decisive battles were lacking.

Unfortunately, there was a little problem: the manufacturing of cordite was a highly dangerous and complicated process. His company should more than possess the capabilities needed to create it in a technical respect. It was initially made in the early twentieth century after all. He decided to head back to his customary spot on the roof to continue.

As he headed out, he passed Pyrrha in her normal "armor", giving he a nod. Once he reached the roof, he set about figuring out how to remotely plan the creation of a volatile compound only using his Pip-boy. This would be a challenge.

It was late at night when Markus returned to the room. He was both satisfied with his achievements and exhausted from science. He was not having any of his employees die because he had miscalculated. Tomorrow was virtually a write off due to the dance. He sighed mentally, something he seemed to be doing a lot of lately. Well, he felt some measure of happiness knowing that at least somewhere in the world, people still were able to care about something as trivial and superfluous as a school dance.

* * *

 **AN:** Writing is going slowly. This part is filled with boring love triangle stuff in canon so it is filled with the slightly more interesting reinvention of cordite, a type of smokeless gunpowder. This is some of the worst parts as I can't really do anything interesting as the Lone Courier is stuck at Beacon and nothing is happening.

Dreams are a way to show the Lone Courier's past and his take on the various parts of Fallout. I had already planned to do Nipton for this chapter. Rest assured, Point Lookout and the Sierra Madre will show up. Dreams don't follow any order after all.

On a side note, the last episode was extremely important. I don't think any of us predicted that. That's why it's far easier to write for a completed story than an unfinished one.


	56. Chapter 56 - Perk: Iron Fist

Chapter 56 - Perk: Iron Fist

* * *

"Whatcha doin'?" asked Yang, suddenly appearing next to Ruby, who was currently on her bed. Blake and Weiss were currently elsewhere. Probably the library or something.

"Oh, nothing," said Ruby, not bothering to hide the fact she was hiding her Scroll inside a textbook. It was mainly a habit to keep Weiss from bothering her about procrastinating her school work.

"Uhh, why does that say 'classified'?"

Yang was looking at a document with a large heading with the words "Classified by [REDACTED] Department of Defense as of [REDACTED] Distribution Level C" on Ruby's Scroll.

Ruby scrolled the document down. She then read out the title.

"This is the 'Infantry Weapons System 2000.' Markus gave it to me."

"What is it?"

Ruby scrolled down further.

"It's the schematics for a gun."

"What're you gonna use them for?"

"Markus said using something called 'long recoil' on Crescent Rose would increase its efficiency. He sent me these as an example of how it works. It's a bit confusing though."

Ruby? Confused by weapon schematics? Yang thought she'd never see the day. But she had a more important question on her mind.

"What does _he_ know about weapons?" asked Yang, genuinely curious. She had expected a Weiss level of aloofness from him. Extensive technical knowledge of weapons was something she _didn't_ expect from the heir of a company.

"A lot apparently. He had new weapon, it was another Anti-materiel rifle, this one called the XM109 and he was practicing assembling and disassembling it with his eyes closed."

Ruby was almost bouncing as she said this. Yang on the other hand, had only really understood/paid attention to, the first and last part of what she had said. The main thing she understood from this, was that now there were two of them.

"I wouldn't have thought he would put that much care into his weapons. That the kind of thing I would think he and Weiss have 'people' to do that kind of thing for them."

"His weapons aren't exactly Myrtenaster."

Yang laughed at that. Compared to the highly ornate and sleek rapier that Weiss used, most Markus' weapons were brutally practical-looking; with the exception of the pistol he sometimes used. In many cases they looked more pragmatic than those used by Atlas.

As Yang continued to peer of Ruby's shoulder at her Scroll, something caught her eye.

"15.2mm? Do they even make that caliber?"

"Markus said it was a prototype," replied Ruby, "Which is why he said I should be careful with where this ends up. I don't think we want the White Fang to have 15.2mm weapons."

Yang shuddered at the thought. She wasn't sure what would stop that caliber of weapon, but it sure wasn't Aura.

"Why's he giving _you_ access to classified things?" Yang asked.

"Why not?" asked Ruby, typically oblivious.

"Let me put it this way," said Yang, "Would Weiss give you access to something this -she pointed at a second large, red, confidential notice-heavily classified?"

Ruby paused for a second. Then, she pointed an accusatory finger at her sister.

"That's not fair," she protested, "He's not like Weiss," then, more quietly, "he doesn't call me a dolt."

"Rich, aloof, wears white, perfect grades, father owns a company," Yang listed off on her fingers, "I could go on."

"He _is_ like Weiss," conceded Ruby, "Just...nicer. And kind of like Blake in that he's really quiet but, you know, not like Ren quiet, and not as broody..." Ruby trailed off into her own thoughts, comparing Markus with various people.

Ruby jumped off her bed.

"Anyway, I'm going to go see if I can make this work. See you later!"

Ruby was out the door before Yang could blink. Well, back to procrastinating.

* * *

Yang Xiao Long felt like she was being toyed with. Yang Xiao Long, did not like being toyed with. She was currently having flashbacks to the train under Mountain Glenn, and her duel with the silent umbrella girl. She was experiencing exactly same frustration now as she did then. Only, she would have difficulty imagining a more different opponent. Yang now thought back on how exactly she ended up in this situation.

" _Mr. Friedrich," Goodwitch had said, "You haven't participated in a while. Why don't you fight...Ms. Xiao Long?"_

 _He nodded stoically._

" _Don't go easy on me," Yang joked. He had nodded very seriously._

When she had said "Don't go easy on me", this is not what she had predicted. From the beginning, he had not even bothered to draw a weapon. She had started with a rather standard probing jab. She had not forgotten his 'fight' against Cardin in which he had basically taken him out in a single punch, so she knew he was a skilled unarmed fighter in his own right, and she needed to avoid getting hit a lot. He stepped towards her, on the right of the punch, inside her guard. He did not move his upper body. Yang moved back, to keep a distance between them. This was repeated. She would throw a punch, he would dodge effortlessly and encroach, thus pushing her backwards.

She could not even hit him with blasts from Ember Celica. The mechanism by which Yang fired her weapon required her to move in a very predictable way which allowed Markus to prevent her from getting the distance she needed to get actually aim it at him. As it was, he was able to stay too close for her to try and use the primary function of her weapons when she tried to.

Now, she had tried various combinations of strikes. None of them made contact. As she committed more and more to her attacks, she seemed to be getting closer to hitting him. _Why wasn't he fighting back?_

Unlike her previous opponent that had used this strategy he, much to Yang's relief, did not have a sadistic smile permanently affixed to his face. Instead, his expression was something almost as unnerving.

Typically, when fighting, a person furrows their brow, frowns, and generally takes on an expression of deep concentration. Less universally, they might fight with passion, a trait that many of the best warriors of both tournament and legend possessed. While at times it needed to be restrained, passion was agreed upon as vital to victory. Which was why Markus' total lack of expression was so unnerving. It was not a mere lack of evidence of effort; he did not look relaxed, but his face felt more like a statue than the visage of a human. His eyes as well. While the eyes of many fighters, including Yang herself, would blaze with passion and emotion in the heat of the fight, her opponents eyes were dead. Moving of course, but still no less of stone. This was something she had never seen from him before. While his displays of emotion were typically subtle, they had always been present and fairly normal. He had merely been quiet and fairly stoic not...this.

As the fight continued, his face and eyes remained unchanged. As did his tactics. His movements were almost mechanical. Had he not been so damn fast, they would have been predictable. As it was, he could react to any move she made before it hit. All she could do is keep trying things and hope he tired before she did. Based on the comparatively little amount of movement he was doing, Yang did not like her odds.

After a particularly powerful right cross, he finally acted. Far too fast for her to respond. Markus grabbed her wrist with his own right hand, this time outside her guard, and pulled her towards, and past, him. She stumbled, over extended and off balance and received a punch to the back of her arm. In her right arm, she felt a sharp pain. Regaining her balance and bouncing away, Yang looked up. Her Aura remained fairly intact. Now however, she was mad. But, her right arm was strangely sluggish and tingling. Was this Markus' plan?

Yang attacked with mounting aggression, despite the fact that her right arm was exceedingly slow. Yet, infuriatingly, she was still unable to make contact. Her Semblance made no difference. He had dealt little damage to her and she couldn't even touch him. Her attacks grew in wildness and strength. At which point he stepped inside her guard and punched her in the throat. Naturally, she went reeling and subsequently tripped over his strategically placed leg. As she was about to get up, two bullets impacted on either side of her head, giving her very clear instructions. Markus' eyes and face remained as dead as ever.

 _Well this was embarrassing._

She would need to find a method for beating this kind of fighting. Losing to this tactic once was bad enough. Twice? Unacceptable. It was bad enough how embarrassing this was. It was less the fact that she had lost, but more the particular way in which she had. She had not even landed a hit.


	57. Chapter 57 - Socializing

Chapter 55 - "Socializing"

* * *

The Courier sighed audibly as he approached the doors to hall in which the dance was to be held. This was, to quote Blake, a "colossal waste of time," but, it was necessary to keep up appearances. He pushed open the doors and entered.

"Can we have a serious talk about how Weiss fights in these?" said Ruby as she desperately tried to maintain her balance in heels.

"I've been meaning to have the same conversation with Pyrrha."

Simultaneous exclamations of "Markus!" From Ruby and "Ice Prince!" from Yang caused him to smile half heartedly. He wasn't very enthused about the whole event.

He and Ruby left Yang at her podium as they both walked along the outside of the room.

"So…", said Ruby, sounding awkward and still trying not to fall, "I thought you would be more excited for the dance."

"What gave you that impression?" asked Markus, genuinely curious.

"Well...Weiss," Ruby gestured to the heiress.

White was trying in vain to prop up a wilted flower in a bouquet.

"She's really into this type of thing," continued Ruby, "so I figured…"

"You do know that Weiss and I are different people right?" he said sarcastically.

"I do! It's just that she's an heiress who wears white, you're an heir who wears white…"

"You're starting to sound like Yang," he warned. Ruby giggled.

The Courier slowly drifted away from Ruby, trying to put as much distance between himself and the crowd. If he could spend the evening without incident, he would count it as a success. There was nothing to be gained from interacting with anyone here and because he was currently undercover, genuine socialization was not in his interest.

Eventually, he ended up at the punch bowl, the standard gathering place of the socially awkward at parties. Out of force of habit, he sniffed the punch for any chemical odors, his artificial heart rendering the habit superfluous. Somewhat predictably, Ruby was also there. Being a couple years younger than the rest of the kids here, it was more difficult for her to socialize.

"So, how did you get Blake to come?"

"Yang convinced her, she won't say how though."

They both stood in silence for a while, watching the joviality of the others. Eventually, something peculiar caught his attention. A very dejected Pyrrha was walking up a set of stairs. With a quick "See you later," to Ruby, he went after his partner.

Now, if he knew anything about Pyrrha, it's that she kept her demeanor professional and was generally a happy person, almost dangerously so in his opinion. Whatever caused this sudden change in mood, it was likely severe, especially considering how enthusiastic the atmosphere was.

He walked up the stairs, deliberately making the typical amount of noise that one made rather than his typical silent steps. He did not want to scare Pyrrha again. Pyrrha was standing at a balcony, staring out into the distance.

"We always seem to be meeting on balconies," Markus observed, half jokingly. This unsurprisingly elicited little reaction from Pyrrha. He turned to face her, deciding to take a more direct approach.

"Something is bothering you." The statement was flat, almost an accusation.

Pyrrha turned towards him and merely sighed. He decided to do some probing.

"So, who'd you go with to the dance?" He needed something to go on, and this was the simplest question he could come up.

"No one," she said glumly, "nobody asked me.

"Really? Aren't you famous?" Pyrrha turned back to gaze out from the balcony.

"I've been blessed with incredible talents and opportunities. I'm constantly surrounded by love and praise, but when you're placed on a pedestal like that for so long, you become separated from the people that put you there in the first place. Everyone assumes I'm too good for them. That I'm on a level they simply can't attain. It's become impossible to form any sort of meaningful relationship with people. That's what I like about you. When we met, you didn't even know my name. You treated me just like anyone else. And thanks to you, I've made friendships that will last a lifetime. I guess, you're the kind of guy I wish I was here with. Someone who just saw me for me." With that she walked away, leaving Markus to stand alone on the balcony.

 _Oh fuck._ Now, the Lone Courier was no expert in romantic relationships, but he was smart/perceptive enough to know what Pyrrha was saying. It was clear that she had a crush on him.

In hindsight, he really should have expected it. It was evident from their first encounter that she had difficulty forming social connections because of her fame and was socially awkward as a result. The fact that they were forced into a social connection by being partners, combined with the fact that he treated her like a normal person, meant that this was inevitable.

Of course, he had no idea what to do. _The amount of damage teenage hormones can do to one's plans_ , he mused. His own hormones were kept in check by his own brain. He doubted it would allow him to go off on some silly infatuation. Besides, his body was so messed up, he doubted those hormones would function properly even without a sentient brain.

The idea of a romantic relationship with Pyrrha was totally out of the question. The fact was, nearly everything she knew about him was a total lie. He liked Pyrrha enough that he would not enter a fake relationship with her just to keep up appearances. She was a good person, despite being more innocent than anyone who had left a Vault. He would not manipulate his friends for no purpose. Markus wasn't cold enough to casually break her heart. Practically speaking, that kind of betrayal could lead to long term psychological problems and trust issues.

Besides, Markus was still 100% certain that Pyrrha would hate-or at least be appalled by him if she knew what he had done. Even with context, he had killed too many people. If he hated himself for the decisions he had made, it was only natural to expect that others would feel the same.

These were all reasons he had never considered romantic relationships to be anything more than a joke since he had arrived. To him, they were all basically children and off limits due to their immaturity. While Pyrrha, and Blake, he amended, were fair ways more mature than say, White, they were still kids. While this was somewhat hypocritical, Markus would be the first to attest to the fact that he had been forced to grow up too fast. Hell, he had won two wars and yet by pre-war standards, he wouldn't have been able to join the military. No, he did not wish the life he had had on to anyone here.

It was then of course, that Markus saw, across the street, a woman in heels dressed as an archetypal cat burglar run across the rooftops. Quickly, he scanned her before she disappeared from view. Hostile and high threat. The fact that Ruby was leaving the building to chase her, albeit with difficulty from her heels, further necessitated his involvement. However, he couldn't very well go shooting people in a public place. Therefore, he jumped from the balcony, putting on his stealth suit as he fell.

He took the fall with minimal pain and no actual damage. He had become invisible halfway through his fall. The the fact that Ruby was pursuing someone known to be a high threat in ball wear, without a weapon, meant that without his presence, things might get messy.

The Courier shadowed Ruby from a fair distance away. He saw incapacitated Atlas guards lying on the ground. There were no visible injuries.

As Ruby approached the entrance to the building the target had entered, she pulled out her scroll and tapped it for a bit. In a moment, her locker crashed into the area behind her, her sniper scythe visible as the door popped open automatically. In a burst of speed, Ruby grabbed her weapon and did her best to run to the elevator in heels. The Courier followed. Inside the elevator, he was so close to Ruby, he had to hold his breath. He headed out as the doors opened. His enhanced lungs gave him the ability to hold his breath for far longer than a normal human.

He started to move away from Ruby as soon as he could. He did not want to be in the line of fire should any attacks with significant collateral damage be directed at her.

"Hello?" said Ruby, immediately stumbling from her heels.

"Is anyone there? Hello?"

The target stood up from cover.

"Excuse me," said Ruby, "You know it's not a masquerade party," The Courier leveled his Desert Eagle, "So why don't you take off that-." Ruby was interrupted by a hail of ice Dust projectiles sent her way which were destroyed by a rotation of her weapon.

Markus held his fire. He would only give away his presence if Ruby's life was in danger.

Ruby returned fire, however the woman conjured force fields with her hand that block all the the Dust rounds. She then twirled her hands, making two swords seemingly out of nothing. Ruby attacked with a telegraphed overhand strike, assisted by recoil. Her opponent backflipped out of the way. The Lone Courier almost winced at how flashy and inefficient it was. Of course, the relative incompetence of the mysterious woman did little to assuage his caution as, despite this, she was still considered a "high threat", meaning that she possessed considerable natural power.

Which was subsequently proven when she fired three explosive arrows at Ruby. As the arrows' explosive ingredient was Dust, it did little more than repel Ruby. Then the elevator opened. Inside, was general Ironwood. And the woman was gone. How she had escaped eluded all knowledge of methods he possessed. It should not have been possible. He had superhuman senses, and yet she had totally vanished. Still, despite the mask, the Courier had little doubt he would be able to recognize her should he encounter her again. Her eyes were a distinctive shade of burning orange.

A black queen flashed on the monitors. A calling card. It would be useful to identify a pattern of raids. It was highly unprofessional unless the woman was intending to wage a war of terror. Based on her tactics, that option seemed unlikely. The major question, was who she was affiliated with. As of yet, he had no knowledge of whether she was acting in the interests of a group or independently.

Markus gave up and returned to the party, leaving Ruby with Ironwood. He wanted to be out of the area before more people arrived. Overall, things had been...interesting.


	58. Chapter 58 - Doomed to Repeat It

**AN:** Just to clarify, Markus is not incapable of forming romantic relationships or anything. His brain (the sentient one) still allows him to love and all that, it's just that based on its pompous nature, it would not allow things such as "silly teenage infatuations."

As for relations between Markus and Pyrrha, there will be no significant changes, as canonically, there was no real change in relations between Pyrrha and Jaune. I infer from this that Jaune is quite possibly the least perceptive person in history. Therefore Markus can simply not address the issue and it will not be brought up.

He is fine with Pyrrha thinking him oblivious and obtuse, as that is manipulation that does not harm her. He does not want to damagingly emotionally manipulate her, as he genuinely likes her (at least platonically.) She is certainly the equivalent of his companion in Remnant.

* * *

Chapter 56 - Doomed to Repeat It

* * *

The Courier had many things he wanted to get done since he had witnessed the mysterious woman. The things he had inferred necessitated the creation of the means to manufacture certain equipment on an industrial scale. While he did not yet have cause to distribute or mass produce equipment, he wanted the capability to become the industrial arsenal of whatever side he needed to back. From what he had seen, Remnant was utterly unprepared for a total war. While sincerely hoped that it would not come to that, with the situation he was in, it was impossible to over prepare.

The presence of the mysterious woman, combined with Roman Torchwick, a human, commanding the White Fang, indicated there was something he didn't know about was going on. That was not something he liked nor was used to. Combine this with what he had overheard from Penny regarding General Ironwood's opinion on this "time of peace", indicated that war was imminent. And with how little he knew, he had little chance of averting it.

He had a desperate need of information, and absolutely no means of acquiring it. He had no contacts, nor could he establish a spy network under the persona he had adopted. While it was possible for him to acquire information, it would require some initial information in regards to sources, and then the time to pursue them. Navigating the dregs of society was something he had become rather accustomed to in Vegas. He doubted he would have much difficulty here.

Of course, with the fact that all first-year teams were to be assigned their first mission, Markus was incapable of doing absolutely anything of strategic worth in his immediate future. His initial frustration with this quickly gave way to a resigned apathy. If he wanted to maintain his cover, this time spent was an acceptable loss.

"Would all first-year students please report to the amphitheater?" came Goodwitch's voice over the intercom. He and his team got up from their respective beds where they typically sat when in their dorm. None of them said anything, not even, surprisingly, Nora.

They entered the amphitheater and stood behind team RWBY.

"Quiet! Quiet please. Professor Ozpin would like to share a few words before we begin" said Goodwitch.

Ozpin began to speak, "Today we stand together, united. Mistral. Atlas. Vacuo. Vale. The four Kingdoms of Remnant. On this day, nearly eighty years ago, the largest war in recorded history came to an end."

This immediately interested the Courier. It confirmed that someone had given the people of Remnant a false history. While he did not doubt that a war had occurred eighty years ago, nothing could compare in terms of destructiveness to the Great War. Someone had, for whatever reason, erased the end of the world from history. Questioned arose of whether it was pre-war Vault-tec or someone else that was behind all this. The Lone Courier was certain from all he had witnessed, including semblances, Grimm, and Aura, that tampering had been done on a massive scale and sufficiently long ago that no one remembered. Realizing that Ozpin was still talking, he returned his attention to the speech.

"It was a war of ignorance, of greed, and of oppression. A war that was about much more than where borders fell or who traded with whom, but about the very idea of individualism itself. We fought for countless reasons, one of which being the destruction of all forms of art and self-expression. And as you are well aware, that was something many could not stand for."

To Markus, this sounded like the Second World War in that it was a conflict with fascism. It sounded equally like a conflict with communism, as the ideology as the ideology stressed equality and conformity. In a way, it also sounded like the NCR's conflict with the Legion. Conformity and lack of individualism characterized the Legion as much as militarism and technophobia did.

"As a result, those who opposed this tyranny began naming their children after one of the core aspects of art itself: color. It was their way to demonstrate that not only would they refuse to tolerate this oppression, but neither were the generations to come. And it was a trend that is held to this very day. We encourage individuality, expressionism, and unity through diversity. As I have said, today we stand together, united. But this bond cannot exist without effort. Which is why today, while the rest of the world celebrates peace, Huntsmen and Huntresses will work to uphold it. As first year students, you will be tasked with shadowing a professional Huntsman or Huntress on a mission. Some of you may be taken out of the Kingdom for several days. Others may work within the walls for the rest of the week. But no matter which path you choose, remember to be safe, remember your training, and remember to do your very best."

There was little useful information here; it was mostly propaganda. Hopefully the mission might provide him with some useful information, but he doubted it. He found it slightly ironic that people opposed to conformity collectively decided to name their children after the same theme. It was fairly counterintuitive. White Snow was hardly the most creative of names.

Markus hardly paid any attention to what was going on around him, merely following his team. Nora, and Ren surprisingly, both wanted to shadow the sheriff of a nearby village. Pyrrha had no objections and neither did he. While it provided no obvious advantage to the Lone Courier, the information about smaller settlements and the local culture could be useful. Besides, he was curious as to why both Ren _and_ Nora wanted to do this, seemingly without any discussion. Typically Ren discouraged Nora's ideas. As any of the few who were present at the Sierra Madre could attest, curiosity was, arguably, a weakness of the Courier.

For reasons he was not quite sure of, the group headed outside, to where team RWBY was standing.

"Well alright then!" Ruby was saying, "Looks like we're going to save the world with Doctor Oooobleck- okay yeah when you say it out loud it sounds worse." Her voice had trailed off as her sentence had went on, to say nothing of its contents.

"Save the world?" said Nora. _Dear God…_ Markus braced himself.

Nora then spoke impressively melodramatically, "You're going on world-saving missions without us? I'm hurt...sad! Maybe a little hungry? The last one's not your fault, though, **Ren** …" Ren merely crossed his arms and turned away. Markus was fairly certain he was the only thing stopping Nora from developing diabetes or dying of a sugar overdose, not that those were mutually exclusive. The Courier sincerely wondered whether he would ever get used to Nora's antics.

"Where are you going to do this world saving anyway?" asked Markus.

"Oh, just outside the kingdom…" said Ruby, frustratingly vaguely.

"Hey! So are we!" said Nora.

"Nora and Ren wanted to shadow the sheriff of a nearby village," explained Pyrrha.

"We set out tomorrow," said Ren.

That was news to the Courier, he had not been paying much attention, assuming that most of it was irrelevant.

"So you can party with us tonight!" said Neptune, or at least that what Markus thought his name was. He was typically good with names and the kid's blue hair helped in any regard. He was accompanied by Sun, the monkey faunus from the whole Blake revelation incident. Neptune continued.

"We're shadowing a crime specialist. All inner-city detective stuff. We get junior badges."

"Hmm," said Markus.

"We normally go to the city with you guys," said Sun, addressing team RWBY, " _which_ means stuff's always exploding and junk, so we thought this might be a better way to check out the kingdom when it's, you know… normal."

"Well-" said Ruby before being cut off by Oobleck.

" _Four_ minutes ladies!" he said, before disappearing back inside the vehicle.

"Well, uh…" Ruby threw a thumbs-up, "Wish us luck!"

With that, team RWBY went to their mission, and team MRPN along with Sun and Neptune went back towards Beacon. _Explore the city…_ , thought Markus, _I might be able to make something of this. I just need to come up with a way to do something useful_.

* * *

 **AN:** Are any of them actually from Vale? As far as I know, Ren and Nora are the only two that could be. We know that Pyrrha is from Mistral as is Neptune, Sun is from Vacuo, we know where the LC is from and Nora and Ren are from...somewhere, but they're orphans, implying that something happened to their respective parents. Anyone with information, pls halp. Anyway, thanks for reading, as usual make sure to review and check out the forum.


	59. Chapter 59 - Endless Schemes

**AN:** The reason the Courier is convinced he is on earth is because realistically, he has no reason to believe he isn't. Nothing he has seen in terms of Aura and Dust make any more sense if he's on another planet. The laws of physics are universal. The similarities with earth are far too prevalent. Firstly, there are humans. Secondly, they speak English. Combine this with things like Pyrrha's weapon transforming into an M1 Garand and the German names present, are convincing evidence he is on earth. Which is more likely, Europe has some weird technology and the moon got blown up in a battle with the Zetans, or, he ended up on another planet/parallel universe that has humans with earth culture and a twenty four hour day.

* * *

Chapter 57 - Endless Schemes

* * *

It had been early evening when they had arrived in the city. Neptune and Sun were largely the driving force in their trip to Vale. While Nora was enthusiastic, she was like that about everything. Sun mostly kept dragging them from one establishment to another. While there were some less than savory characters present, none of them even dreamed of bothering them for a host of reasons.

The formation in which their group walked was worth noting. Sun and Neptune walked side by side, Nora following closer than the average person would. Ren kept Nora from getting too excited or breaking anything or anyone. Markus maintained a comfortable position at the back of the group while Pyrrha walked to his right and in front of him. She kept her head down and tried to use him, and the rest of the group, as a shield. Being recognized in public was apparently not something she was fond of. While Markus found a bit of schadenfreude in Pyrrha suffering under the "curse of fame", though her tactic seemed effective as so far no one had addressed her.

As of now, they were in a very strange establishment. It was called a club, but it was like none the Courier had ever seen. The combinations of lights and sounds were highly peculiar. The music was like nothing he had ever heard before in that if a holotape could have a seizure, it was what he imagined it would sound like. Apparently Sun had heard someone on team RWBY, Markus' money was on Yang, mention this place.

While the patrons of this seemed well dressed, the amount of men dressed exactly the same with tinted sunglasses concerned the Lone Courier. It reeked of organized crime connections. They were the stereotypical henchmen. Uniforms were typically a vain attempt to instill some at least paramilitary discipline and professionalism. The rest of the team seemed oblivious to this and were enjoying themselves to some degree. Markus had any number of weapons just seconds away on his Pip-boy so he wasn't concerned.

Of course, the fact that this place had some less-than-legal connections meant that this would be a proper source of information that he needed desperately. Unfortunately, there were a lot of people here that should not witness his means. The simple act of seeking information at this time would be suspicious and socially inappropriate. Instead, he joined the group.

Pyrrha looked reasonably uncomfortable but that was to be expected of her. He doubted that this was something she was regularly exposed to. To be fair, he had not been to something like this previously either, but he was better at faking it. He'd been doing it for several months straight and she was the only one who had even thought something was up.

As he tuned out the conversation around him, the Courier faced the fact that how he had dealt with Pyrrha had turned his own situation into a time bomb. All he had done was forestall giving her answers, and he sincerely doubted that it was possible for him to spin a lie big and believable enough to cover all of his bases. Eventually, Pyrrha would find out. Perhaps it was the weakness of emotion and vain hope clouding his judgement, but he hoped that he would be able to sway Pyrrha totally to his side so that she would at the very least keep his secret. Otherwise, he saw few alternatives.

The Courier started tapping away on his Pip-boy, sorting weapons schematics into to be manufactured and to not be manufactured. He carried idle conversations with the rest of the group but was internally distracted. There were things that had to be done.

As they began to head back to Beacon, the Lone Courier contemplated his next moves in regards to Vault-tec. In a civilized place such as Remnant, money was power. While that did not mean that money was the sole source of power, it meant that an increase in the capital of Vault-tec was an increase in power. Now, the Courier had no intention of becoming a mass arms supplier until the battle lines had been drawn. Until he knew who the enemy were, he was unwilling to supply weapons that might be used against him.

One of the first problems he needed to surmount was that most pre-war tech required fusion or fission power. He needed to acquire a small enough dust power source to use as a substitute. While it would be unable to compare in terms of longevity, it would be easy to acquire.

While his factories were as automated as they could be, using as few workers as possible, developing robotic security forces was an attractive option. While they would not be sold openly, they could be used as an additional preventative measure against raids. While his strategy of constantly moving cargo and quick moving information had meant the White Fang had never made contact since, he was sure that one day they would circumvent his defenses. All the robots would need to have a self-destruct, one that can be triggered both by him and by leaving a designated area.

The Courier also considered methods of helping the people of Remnant. One area where the Old World seemed to clearly have the advantage over Remnant was medicine. _Stimpacks were far more effective than anything here,_ he reflected as he boarded the airship to Beacon. He was not willing to give up the advantage that the ability to heal grievous wounds in a matter of second gave, he could certainly distribute a slower, weaker version.

On the ride back he designed the medicine and sent approval for testing. It would take a while before it was ready for sale, but he was certain it would both bring in enormous profits and save lives. He was slightly concerned about the attention it would bring to his company, but he thought it was worth it. It certainly would have made his Dad proud.

He did not invent an equivalent of Med-X because of how addictive it was. He was certain that painkillers existed here and he was unwilling to exploit addicts for profit.

The Courier was still planning various business ventures and means by which he could set up an anonymous source of information for himself when he finally fell asleep.

* * *

 **AN:** Sorry about all the fluff, next chapter is more directed. More information about the future of Vault-tec.


	60. Chapter 60 - Breached Confidence

**Response to Reviews:**

2manybooks: He has not really any more time on Aura for reasons stated in this chapter. I do determine to give him a Semblance, though he would first need to properly unlock his Aura. And thanks for the compliment. If you want more information or to talk to other people who read this story, head over to the forum, it's title "The Bringer of War Discussion".

* * *

Chapter 58 - Breached Confidence

* * *

Markus was awoken chemically from his sleep by his Pip-boy, as usual. Less ordinarily, was the fact that it was totally dark. He glanced at his Pip-boy, attempting to discern the reason for the interruption of his rest. A fairly annoying icon indicated Ruby (of all people) was attempting to contact him. He stepped out of the room in a flash and answered the call. Whatever it was had to be important for her to call him at this ungodly hour.

"Ruby?" He waited for a response.

There was nothing but static for a few seconds. Then, quite abruptly, it ended. Typically, that was a very bad sign. While it was possible Ruby simply lacked reception where she was, that still did not indicate why she was calling him at this hour. It would have to be something important, an emergency even.

He therefore attempted to contact all members of team RWBY, one after another. None of his calls even reached them.

That was, to a degree, reassuring. If they were captured or killed, their phones- _scrolls_ , he corrected himself, would still receive the messages. This meant that wherever they were, communications were blocked. Naturally, none of this significantly reassured Markus. It did not answer the question as to why Ruby had called.

Failing to see any means of locating them, Markus returned to bed, assuring himself that she had probably called for some suitably childish reason rather than a desperate S.O.S. it would not help his conscience should things go badly, however.

* * *

As he and his team exited Beacon around sunrise, Markus informed his them about the night's events.

"I'm sure they're fine," said Pyrrha, almost admonishingly. While Markus didn't want to appear paranoid, this was not a situation to be taking risks in.

"Personally, I'd rather not risk it," he said.

"Probably a butt dial…," said Nora, instantly derailing his concerns.

Ren gave him some more comforting words, "Team RWBY has always performed exceptionally in the field. We should be focusing on our own mission."

Ren was correct in that team RWBY were easily one of the best first year teams. This, combined with the fact that they were accompanied by a veteran huntsman, should have meant that there were no issues. Of course, that made the call _more_ worrying rather than less.

However, considering it further, Markus realized that no matter what, team RWBY's situation was entirely out of his hands. There was nothing he could do. What was he going to do, order the search of a relatively large region because of a disconnected call? No, with the information he currently had, team RWBY was on their own.

"We're gonna be be deputies!" said Nora, as usual, more excited than she had any right to be.

It was a few seconds later they heard alarms blare in the distance and a plume of smoke rise from the city. Wordlessly the team followed their leader into the Bullhead. They all knew plans had changed. There was never any other option.

"Take us as close to the incident as possible, Markus ordered the pilot. The pilot complied without question and Markus returned to his seat. The team sat in silence except for Nora who was babbling speculation about what the source of all the smoke was.

The pilot dropped them off on a rooftop just slightly before the column of smoke. Apparently there were too many Nevermores around to risk getting closer.

From their vantage point, the team could see the cause of the commotion: A breach leading underground, through which Grimm were swarming. Team RWBY were present and killing through the creatures at a surprisingly fast rate. Nora quickly joined them by jumping off the roof and smashing her hammer into the head of a giant snake, killing it instantly.

"Let's go," said Markus, leaping off the roof. He focused his aura into preventing damage to himself from the fall. While the impact was lessened, his Pip-boy told him his aura was depleted.

While he should probably work on unlocking it properly, he did not _need_ to. While it would certainly provide him with a tactical advantage, it would do little for him strategically. He was better served giving orders to

He pulled out his AA-12 automatic shotgun as Pyrrha and Ren landed around him. This was not the time for subtlety. The explosive dust rounds the weapon was loaded with literally tore Grimm apart with ease. The low capacity of the weapon's magazines was hardly an impediment to his storm of death. His hands were almost a blur when reloading. The nature of his weapon meant that he was constantly moving in order to maximize its effect. He dashed from one target to the next, using VATS as often as he could. Even the larger Grimm lasted no more than a couple shells at point blank range before much of their vital organs were reduced to a fine pink mist.

The Lone Courier noted the arrival of Atlas forces, both in the form of close air support and autonomous mechs. He did not however, divert his attention from the slaughtering of Grimm. The arrival of various Beacon elements made the Courier's role fairly superfluous.

Unfortunately, it seemed that his ability had not gone unnoticed by his friends. Whether they viewed him now as highly skilled or suspicious was entirely up in the air at this point. He sincerely hoped it was the former. Trying to explain supernatural ability would be virtually impossible.

He cursed mentally and wished that he had been more subtle and used the Sprtel Wood 9700. _That was a rare sentence,_ he reflected. There was not much that was less subtle than the aforementioned weapon, but sprinting and reloading at inhuman speeds with prodigious use of VATS certainly fit the bill. To further expound his frustration, was the fact that this was all entirely unnecessary. Even had none of them been present, Markus had little doubt that the enormous Atlas fleet overhead would have wiped out the Grimm with little issue.

As the last of the Grimm were dealt with, the groups began to congregate. Mercury and some girl with green hair, whose name he guessed to be either be Emerald or Grass, escorted a captured Roman Torchwick to one of Atlas's airships.

The fact that Torchwick had been present, and captured was highly peculiar to Markus. While he was not sure of the purpose of the attack, it seemed to have had little chance of success, especially with the Atlas fleet looming overhead. Still, the mysterious woman he had seen previously told him the threat was nowhere close to eliminated. Torchwick was not working alone.

The Courier rejoined his team. The adrenaline high had given them a euphoric sense of accomplishment. For the time being, no one questioned Markus's feats. They merely reveled in their victory.

 _Well,_ Markus thought to himself, _this is one way to end the semester._ And so the Lone Courier found himself in the happiest moment he had been in since the end of the Second Battle of Hoover Dam and yet, a part of him prevented him from joining in the celebration for while the battle was over, the war had yet to begin.

* * *

 **AN:** So that's the end of volume 2. The chapter is very short, however the is largely because the Breach is a pretty big anti-climax. There's no real danger to anyone. I won't be going immediately into season 3. Now's the interim between seasons. The Lone Courier will be _very_ busy. The transportalponder should be ready soon.


	61. Chapter 61 - Adversarial Council

**Merry Christmas!**

* * *

 **Response to Reviews:**

Vote4Pedro: Remnant is not significantly more advanced than Pre-War Earth on most fronts. Secondly, the LC is under the impression that all the geography has changed as a result of GECK usage. I mean really, it takes a lot to convince a person that they're in an alternate reality when information is not globalized. AFAIK, there are no characters in Fallout from continental Europe. The odds that he would end up in an alternate reality so similar to Earth are so remote that they are not worth considering. Besides, he doesn't have reason to put too much thought into it. As I have stated previously, he has decided to leave making sense of things to the Think Tank, and deal only with the practical effects. In my opinion, the vast majority of crossovers have people coming to the conclusion that they're in an alternate reality far more easily than they really have any right to.

* * *

Chapter 59 - Adversarial Council

* * *

Ozpin was not pleased, not pleased at all. With the plethora of unexplained events he had been informed of, this breach was the last thing he needed.

"Ozpin!"

The man in question turned his chair towards the image emitting the bothersome noise.

"Yes, Councilman."

"You've left us no choice! The Vytal Festival tournament cannot be broadcast, let alone held, if we are unable to ensure the safety of the citizens."

Ozpin merely sipped from his cup. There was nothing he could do to affect this conversation. He knew what they were going to say, and it was thus a waste of his time. Once this breach had occurred, it had set in motion a series of events he was powerless to affect.

"Ahem... Therefore, we have reached out to the Atlas Council and together have decided that the best action is to appoint General Ironwood as head of security for the event."

"Thank you, Councilman. Our Kingdom is happy to lend as many troops as it takes to ensure that the event runs smoothly and safely as possible."

As if the number of troops would do anything to prevent any plans. In fact, they would have counted on it.

"And we thank you, General," said the Councilman.

"Will that be all?" asked Ozpin. He had things to be doing.

"For now. But after this festival comes to a close, we are going to have a serious discussion about your position at Beacon Academy. General Ironwood's reports over the last few weeks have left us somewhat... concerned. I am sure you understand."

With that, the Councilman disconnected leaving Ozpin and Ironwood staring at one another through the console.

"This is the right move, Ozpin. I promise, I will keep our people safe, you have to trust me." Ironwood disconnected.

With little faith, Ozpin hoped was right. Still, what was done, was done. No point in considering could haves. The largest question was why this attack was carried out. Whomever had done this had sacrificed Roman Torchwick into Atlas custody and numerous members of the White Fang to the Grimm in the now sealed abandoned subway. That was a high cost for seemingly little achievement.

So far, the only effects that seemed apparent was that Atlas was taking over security of the Vytal Festival tournament. The direct consequences that he feared from that was increased panic, which would serve to draw the Grimm. Unless whoever perpetrated this attack did so for the purpose of attracting the Grimm, he could not see any other benefits.

The results of the breach were hardly unexpected by anyone, not least those planning the attack, Ozpin hypothesized, it would have been anticipated that the Grimm would be slaughtered once huntsmen or Atlas forces were deployed. Unless this mysterious enemy's plan had failed, something he was not willing to bank on, the intention of this attack was to spread fear and place Atlas in charge of security.

This was a fact that the headmaster sat in his office brooding on for a while. The whole time he was scanning through footage of the incident, searching for any clues that might be beneficial. He watched the arrival of team MRPN with mild interest. The team's leader, Markus Friedrich if he remembered correctly, was killing a surprising amount of Grimm. His efficacy surpassed that even of Pyrrha Nikos. This was unusual, though he was not suspicious. He only viewed the fact as a curiosity, and Markus, as a potential asset.

 _Meanwhile, in a different part of Vale_

Cinder, Mercury, and Emerald congregated on a secluded rooftop, far away from any prying eyes, or lenses for that matter.

"All in all, I call today a success," said Cinder.

"Those stupid kids really made a mess of things," said Emerald. Team RWBY really _had_ made a mess of things for Cinder and her lackeys. The breach had been nowhere as extensive as it was intended to be.

"Yeah," said Mercury, "A lot of Faunus didn't make it out the tunnels. You still think the White Fang's going to listen to us?"

Unseen, a fourth member joined them.

"No, but they'll listen to me," said Adam.

"Really?", said Cinder, "Even after they saw how easily you were beaten by a student?"

"He materialized a man sized mech far superior to three Paladins. Your intelligence network seems to be lacking intelligence in a greater sense than just a lack of information on our enemies."

Emerald pretended to ignore the thinly veiled insult, and instead gave a report on said individual.

"The kid's named Markus Friedrich. He's the heir to some obscure high tech weapons company. Like too classified to hack high tech. I believe that they've had some conflict with _your_ organization."

"Vault-tec," said Adam.

Emerald nodded.

"They hacked us a while ago," said Adam, "we don't know why; they emptied a lot of bank accounts. We raided a shipment they received from SDC. I wasn't there but apparently they took hostages, killed some workers as well."

"How did that end?" asked Mercury.

"Badly. A little while after the ransom demand, the major base of operations was hit that held the hostages. The entire place was flooded with some kind of gas, it only knocked out most of the Faunus there, but it killed well over two hundred. The hostages were rescued and we still haven't gotten all those arrested free by now."

"Do you know if Vault-tec was behind it?" asked Emerald.

"There's no one else it could be. There are no records of any such chemical. No one else other than them and Atlas has that kind of tech. And Atlas don't typically kill people if they can help it."

"For the good guys, they aren't following the rules," said Mercury.

"No, they aren't," said Cinder, "Adam, we'll talk about how we'll deal with these people later; I don't like unknowns. You two, make sure to keep an eye of the heir to Vault-tec. See if he has any weaknesses we can exploit. Just...don't get electrocuted."

* * *

 **AN:** The LC's enemies are gathering...


	62. Chapter 62 - For Science

**Response to Reviews:**

Vote4Pedro: It's pretty simple. All he's seen, are maps of Remnant, which he assumes to be a region, which is further supported by a lack of poles seen on the maps. In the end, it doesn't matter, which is why he doesn't think too much about it.

Mr. Christmas: The LC isn't willing to put the effort into determining too much about where he is but rather in the more immediate things e.g. threats, maintaining his cover, fixing the transportalponder. He intends to figure out how everything is once he reestablishes contact with the Think Tank.

* * *

Chapter 60 - For Science

* * *

Ozpin had received some puzzling information from Qrow. Qrow had found something of potential strategic importance totally unrelated to his mission. Local hunters had found a strange machine just outside the Kingdom.

It was a strange, hovering spherical robot. It did not appear to have any A.I. as it never reacted to any external stimuli. It merely floated around aimlessly. That was one curiosity: it floated without rotors. It had several shorter antennae coming off of its sides and a single, far longer antenna rising from the top. All were along a singular plane. There was a screen on the front, but it was blank. The device had been found due to an intercepted radio transmission from it, on a frequency never used.

"Courier 6, Dr. Klein here, if you are there, tell us. Your absence is severely hindering the advance of SCIENCE!"

The message merely looped from there.

While a strange radio signal looking for someone was normally not something Ozpin, and Qrow for that matter, were concerned with, the strange operation of the little robot made it worth investigating. For one, it was seemingly defying the laws of physics by floating. Secondly, once they had partially disassembled the thing, they had found no Dust in it. Instead, it was powered by a small device that none of them dared to remove.

The fact that whoever made this was capable of creating technology unlike anything Remnant had seen before and managed to circumvent the use of Dust meant that Ozpin had no idea who he was dealing with.

The message itself was strange. There were no living Dr. Kleins on Remnant. The speech pattern as well was that of an unstable individual, almost identical to that of a stereotypical mad scientist. This "Courier 6" that the message referred to troubled the headmaster further. The designation sounded almost military. Worse still, it indicated at least five other Couriers in existence.

Whoever this Dr. Klein was, he was looking for someone. The broadcast had been extremely powerful, owing to the abnormally large antenna the machine possessed. The signal easily reached Beacon. Furthermore, the machine had possessed technology that should not be possible. All in all, Ozpin was having a very bad day. Still, there was some good he hoped to come of this. If the machine's power sources and method of propulsion could be reverse engineered, it could provide significant benefits to the people of Remnant. Ones they would certainly need once this war came.

The Lone Courier was back at his typical base of operations. This break gave him a lot of time to prepare. Of course, he was not sure what exactly he was preparing for except that a war of some kind was imminent.

Naturally, his plans were derailed when his Pip-boy picked up a signal.

"Courier 6, Dr. Klein here, if you are there, tell us. Your absence is severely hindering the advance of SCIENCE!"

This caused him to remember that he should probably re-establish contact with the Think Tank before attempting to arm a nation for a secret war. While he considered following the signal to its source, he predicted that he would likely find nothing other than that prototype eyebot he had seen in the Big Empty. Besides, all the parts of the transportalponder were finished. All he needed to do was assemble them. And wait for them to arrive. _Hindered by the postal service_ , thought the Courier wryly.

In the meantime, he decided to set up some contingencies. Firstly, he moved large sums of money into anonymous bank accounts. Secondly, from these, he purchased a number of properties throughout various kingdoms. Then, through other accounts he filled these with the supplies needed for safe houses.

In addition, he had a variety of estates built and faked records to make it appear as if they had been in existence for years. It would have been strange if a wealthy family lacked real estate.

The watered down version of stimpacks he had devised had passed clinical trials and he approved their sale. He mentally braced for the media impact it would make. In a stroke of inspiration, he invented an official statement from his father about its release.

The entire process took only a few hours. While he accomplished much, it required few actions. He then set out to accomplish something that would likely take until the arrival of the new parts of the transportalponder.

What the Courier intended to do, was to mass produce the M2 Browning. In his opinion, it was an effective solution to the Grimm problem. Its rate of fire was capable of destroying massed attacks of Grimm while its high caliber enabled it to deal with the giant Grimm with relative ease. However, he was unwilling to distribute these until he felt it was necessary. The .50 cal rounds would likely be lethal. If the White Fang got their hands on these the damage that they could cause would be catastrophic. Markus was not willing to have _that_ on his head. Instead, he would keep them in strategically placed warehouses under the pretense of false orders from various militaries.

It was the acquisition of the warehouses that took the longest as he chose the locations carefully throughout the kingdoms. The entire venture was extremely costly. However he was certain that the invention of basically a miracle cure to physical injuries would make money a non issue.

At that point, Markus decided to turn in for the night. The parts of the transportalponder should be there by morning. Priority was getting back to the Think Tank. He was eager to finally find out what the hell was going on. He had long since given up making any sense of this place. This whole ordeal had been largely an exercise in frustration. He had mostly been unable to do anything for a ridiculous amount of time.

The next morning, the assembly went quickly. However the Courier thoroughly inspected the device. If anything was out of place it could very well kill him or strand him God knows where. He spent two full hours doing this. He was not taking chances at getting back.

Then, was the moment of truth. He picked up the transportalponder MKII, and pulled its trigger.

* * *

 **AN:** Does anyone know how long it is between seasons two and three? I can't find any sources for this and it's kind of important. The next chapter will likely be pushed back a day as I will not be near my computer. Sorry. In the meantime, review and check out the forum. As always, thanks for reading.


	63. Chapter 63 - Remnant First

Chapter 61 - Remnant First

It had worked. The Lone Courier could have jumped for joy at the sight of the Big Empty stretching out from the balcony of the Sink. He felt an indescribable sense of relief at being somewhere familiar. Finally he was somewhere where things made sense. And here perhaps, he could find some answers.

Of course, it was then he noticed a peculiarity on the horizon. The shattered moon he had become accustomed to seeing did not appear to be shattered. While it was true that during full moons it did not appear shattered, it had not been full when the Courier had left. Besides, even when the moon was full, one could still see fragments around the edges of its silhouette.

Still, this curiosity did little to dampen his spirits. The prospect of getting answers was far too alluring for another mystery to affect his jubilation. What was one more on top of everything he had seen?

As he entered the Sink, he was greeted by a chorus of overlapping voices. His lengthy absence had been noted by the various personalities. As Markus headed towards the elevators, he wondered how the rest of his companions across the wasteland were doing. He hoped Veronica had some success with the Mojave Brotherhood. She was the one he was most concerned about. All of the others were secure in their positions whereas she would have to constantly watch out for assassination attempts. He returned his thoughts to the present as he entered the elevator. He would need all his mental faculties to deal with the dysfunctional mess that was the Think Tank.

"AH, COURIER, YOU HAVE RETURNED" said (who else) Dr. Klein.

"I had to upgrade Mobius' roboscorpions to keep myself entertained," complained Dr. 0.

"I got your message. How many of those eyebots did you send out?" asked Markus.

"WE SENT OUT OVER...ACTUALLY I'M NOT QUITE SURE HOW MANY WE SENT BUT BE ASSURED THAT IT WAS A SIGNIFICANT AMOUNT," said Dr. Klein.

The Courier really wished he had managed to fix Klein's volume.

"So my bear of teddiness," said Dala, "how did the experiment go?"

It took Markus a couple seconds to realize she was talking about the test of the transportalponder. It had been supposed one lost track of time after two hundred years.

"Well there was a bit of a hiccup. A tesla cannon hit it as it was being tested and it sent me somewhere very far away."

Dr. 8 made some noises to Klein.

"YES. DR. 8 IS CORRECT. WE WERE UNABLE TO LOCATE YOU WITH OUR SATELLITES."

"I was unable to reach any satellites while I was there. There were many inexplicable things I saw. There were city states that surpassed the Old World in development, a strange substance known as Dust, and mentally controlled force fields. When and how did the moon get shattered by the way?"

The Courier's sentence turned abruptly at its end. Out of the vast ocean of questions he held, he asked the most recent of them. He was looking for at least the smallest amount of reason in the madness.

"SHATTERED? WHY DID NONE OF YOU TELL ME THE MOON GOT SHATTERED!"

"Last I checked, the moon was entirely in one piece," said Dr. 0, "Courier, when did you notice this had occurred?"

"I first saw this months ago when I…Oh." The Lone Courier finally put two and two together.

The moon was shattered when he had _arrived_ in Remnant and it was not shattered when he _left_ Remnant. It was not the same moon. Remnant was not Europe.

In hindsight, it seemed rather obvious that he was on another planet. Too many things were unprecedented for him to still entirely believe he was on Earth.

Still, Remnant was too similar to Earth for it to be a coincidence. He suspected Zetan meddling. Putting humans on another planet with creatures like Grimm sounds like something they would do. He addressed the Think Tank.

"I think I may have been on another planet."

"ANOTHER PLANET?"

"That would explain why we couldn't find the teddy bear," said Dr. Dala.

"So much potential for EXPERIMENTING!" said Dr. Borous, "You MUST bring us samples for testing!"

The Courier materialized a variety of .50 cal dust rounds. He then poured them out onto one of the various surfaces around the room.

"The residents of this planet use this substance that they call 'Dust' for everything. Their entire society is based on it. Ammunition, power, or as a weapon itself."

"FASCINATING! THINK OF ALL THE COMMIE DESTROYING INVENTIONS I CAN CREATE!"

"There are various types of Dust. They are utilized based on Aristotelian elements. Wind, Fire, Water, and Earth."

"HOW UN-SCIENCE-Y!"

"It gets worse; they are capable of mentally controlling something called 'Aura' which can be used to shield oneself and enhance one's physical abilities. They claim it is a 'physical manifestation of one's soul'".

"PRECIPITOUS" The Courier didn't bother correcting him.

"See if you can develop a means for me to send items to you from there by means similar to the transportalponder. I can send things to you for research."

By accepting that Remnant was a different planet, it explained away all of his questions. The strange sublimation of the Grimm, the shattered moon. It was funny how simple it made things.

As he headed back up to the Sink, Markus considered what his goal was. He had gotten back and he possessed the means to travel between Earth and Remnant at will. His top priority would always be to rebuild Earth and secure its future. Now that he knew Remnant was entirely separate from Earth, it changed his perspective on a few things. It did not however, change his belief that Remnant was uniquely positioned to help the people of the wastes.

Now, the Courier's strategy to this was to solve Remnant's problems to allow them to solve those of Earth. The fact was, Earth's problem was one of resources. Remnant had nothing but untapped resources due to the fact that it was populated by a total of four cities due to the threat of Grimm.

If the Lone Courier could remove the threat of Grimm, he could rebuild Earth. Besides that, he felt no less duty bound to defend the people of Remnant than those of Earth. The reason they were prioritized was because of the long term benefits solving their problems would have.

With a new sense of purpose, the Courier went to bed in the Sink, a place he had not been for months. Despite his optimistic outlook on his future, the Courier slept worse than he had in a very long while.


	64. Chapter 64 - Hope and Pain

**AN:** I'm having the strange issue that I can't see any reviews from later than Dec 29 from the reviews page for whatever reason. I still receive emails of them though. If anyone has a solution, PM me. That doesn't mean you shouldn't review though. It'd be useful to know if this is a problem only on my end or a site problem.

Chapter 62 - Hope and Pain

* * *

 _It was White that appeared first. Markus found her presence a curiosity, as he did not know her well enough to care about her, and had not yet killed her. That ruled out the typical reasons people were in his dreams._

 _It was then that a knife was thrust through her neck. The look of utter surprise and horror on her face mirrored his own emotions. A trickle of crimson blood trickled from both the entry and exit point on her porcelain skin._

 _Then the knife was almost punched forward tearing out her throat._

 _The crimson trickle became a flood as it washed over her immaculate dress. Her windpipe flopped pathetically as she clutched her throat and sank to the ground. The sight before him was not entirely unfamiliar. The technique was one he used when killing silently at close range. Still, that did not affect his fervent desire to avert his eyes from the grisly scene in front of him. Of course, this being a dream, there was no chance of him being permitted to do so._

 _Next, Yang appeared, squaring off with a suit of T-51b Power Armor. The two circled for a few moments before Yang threw the first punch. It was caught in a metal fist. Yang struggled. There was no movement. Yang's hair and eyes blazed as she used her semblance. Still, the armor would not budge. Then, there was a whirr of servos and a sickening, even to the Lone Courier, crunch. Yang's horrified scream of pain quickly became a broken whimper. She collapsed to her knees, sobbing. A noise that was cut short abruptly as her neck was snapped. The power armored figure walked away from her lifeless body. Her body looked the furthest thing from peaceful with its mangled hand and neck turned at an unnatural angle._

 _And so it continued. Ruby eviscerated, trying to hold her insides in from a gash that spanned her entire abdomen. Nora, shredded by heavy machinegun fire from multiples sources, jerking like she was having seizure, a fine pink mist surrounding her body with massive chunks missing. Ren, a gaping hole in his chest from a caliber of bullet never intended to be used on human targets. Blake, on her knees, a silenced pistol at the back of her head. Executed coldly, the exit wound making her face entirely unrecognizable._

 _To Markus, the worst was their eyes. They were all the same. They alway looked directly at him, both innocent and accusing. Even when they died, the eyes never left him._

 _Finally, was Pyrrha. Only something was different. This one had a location. The Lone Wanderer's most hated place. There was a pane of reinforced glass between them. It was, of course, Project Purity. Pyrrha was banging on the glass desperately. She looked confused though Markus could not hear what she was saying. He knew what would happen. The chamber filled with radiation wracking his body with pain as Pyrrha panicked._

It was thus that the Lone Courier awoke, spasming in pain from far in excess the lethal dose of radiation received around a year ago. He did not know what his dream met and frankly, he did not want to. He had too much to deal with without trying to fix his psychological state. He was functional, and that was more than good enough for him.

To this day, he did not know what caused the pains. According to both human and mechanical doctors he was totally fine. There was nothing physical that they could detect that caused them. In the end, Markus had decided that the occasional fit of debilitating pain was a small price to pay when one considered he had entered the chamber expecting to die.

* * *

"So," he asked the Think Tank," What do you have for me?"

"Well teddy bear, that 'Dust' stuff you gave us was totally inert. It required a very specific combination of gases and electricity to function as you described it."

"How did you figure that out?"

"THROUGH A TOTALLY SCIENTIFIC SERIES OF RANDOM EXPERIMENTS," thundered Klein.

Markus was glad to know that despite the Think Tank's inefficient methods, they were still impossibly good at getting results.

"We speculate that Dust only functions in Remnant's atmosphere," said Dr. 0.

"Hmm," said Markus. That was disappointing. Still, Remnant had relatively little technological advantages that the wastes could make use of; quite the reverse in fact. Remnant's uses were the fact that it was a virtually uninhabited planet.

"See if you can -wait nevermind." The Courier had been about to ask them to devise a means by which he could return to the Mojave or the Capital Wasteland since the Transportalponder MKII was now tied to Remnant, but thought better of it once he realized that it would entail allowing the Brains to know how to leave the Big Empty. He was not going to be responsible for unleashing the terror of the Big Empty onto the unsuspecting wastes. No, for now he would stay out of contact. There was nothing he really needed from the rest of the Wastes. His companions would be unable to help him unless he was capable of creating and maintaining a new identity for them on Remnant. With how poorly his own concealment went, he was unwilling to risk someone else for no real purpose.

"So, have you set up a way for me to send to things for research and development?"

"YES," Dr. Klein floated over to four very science-y looking pylons. They were covered in glowing rings of electricity that pulsed. It was very Think Tank esque.

"SIMPLY PUT SOMETHING IN BETWEEN THESE PYLONS AND IT WILL APPEAR HERE. ONLY UNANIMATED THINGS THOUGH. LIVING THINGS WILL NEED TO TAKE THE TRANSPORTALPONDER."

The Lone Courier thanked them before materializing the pylons and ascending to the Sink. He decided to review his Remnant strategy.

The stakes were now substantially lower in the sense that he needed to worry less about anyone finding out his identity was false. Now that he was back in contact with Earth and had the means to come and go as he pleased, he could take a lot more risks. It would be a shame to lose all the work he had put into Vault-tec however. He would need to have contingencies in place for what would happen to the company should he be compromised. Ensure the right things end up in the right hands and all that.

He would return to Remnant, and send things back so the Think Tank could return to their original purpose of research and development. With his line of retreat secure, finally, the Lone Courier could now do things his way.

* * *

 **AN:** How was the dream? Dark enough for you?


	65. Chapter 65 - Para Bellum

Chapter 63 - Para Bellum

Back on Remnant, the Lone Courier had arranged for transport to one of his warehouses. There he intended to set up the pylons and send the Think Tank some more samples for analysis and potential use in new devices.

The warehouse in question was filled with his special types of Dust ammunition and various crates, marked with Snow Dust Company, that contained Dust itself. It was the latter of these that the Courier was interested in sending back. The warehouse was staffed only by guards on the exterior. He had made sure to prevent the doors from opening.

It was with no small amount of relief that the Courier materialized the pylons. They were heavy, even relative to his considerable strength. He set them up in a reasonably large area before opening one of the Dust shipping containers and taking one at a time taking one crate of each type of Dust.

As an afterthought, he doubled the amount he would send through by adding one of each type of crystalline Dust as well. The various states should give the Think Tank greater insight into its properties.

The Lone Courier was particularly interested in Dust's chemical composition. It could not be an undiscovered element as it would need to have been far denser. He wondered if Dust occurred naturally on Earth as well and had simply been dismissed as useless because it was inert without the specific conditions of Remnant. That thought led to the Lone Courier thinking to send an air sample from Remnant to be cross referenced with the combination of gases the Think Tank had used to get Dust to function. He made sure to label the containers. God knows what the Brains might have inferred it was for.

Since that seemed to be all he could come up with, the Courier activated the pylons. The materials vanished. He would attribute their disappearance to their acquisition by a nonexistent customer or perhaps "shrinkage". He dematerialized the pylons and exited the building.

During his return to his residence, he reviewed a spreadsheet of significant information. The spreadsheet comprised of a list of all White Fang raids on his company and Snow Dust Company, both attempted and successful. While his precautions had prevented the White Fang from successfully pulling off any more raids on his company, that did not mean they had stopped trying. That was, until they did. Immediately after the breach, all raids, on both Vault-tec and SDC, stopped entirely. So, the obvious question was: Why?

Roman Torchwick had been arrested. He was certainly a high ranking figure in the organization, however so was the man with the red glyphs on his mask. There were redundancies in the White Fang's leadership, so Torchwick being gone was no reason for a halt on operations.

Now, if Torchwick was Führer, there could be internal struggles about who would take his place, however if internal conflict was the reason for the White Fang's inactivity, the conflict should be more visible. Terrorists are not typically capable of having a secret civil war, especially considering the White Fang are little more than a glorified gang. People shooting at one another typically made the news in civilized places. An utter lack of any evidence to support the conclusion meant that inner strife was not why the organization was suddenly silent.

The final option, was that this was a deliberate choice by the leader. Now, the Courier had the issue that he had no idea who was running the organization. This meant that he lacked any ability to judge the character or motives of the White Fang.

The fact that they had worked with Torchwick in the first place indicated that they had some kind of plan that was on a grand enough scale that they considered it worth jeopardizing their principles and overcoming their hatred of humans enough to work with one. The Lone Courier's utter lack of concrete information on his foremost enemies here reminded him of the pressing need for a means to acquire it.

He had gotten all he could from hacking. If the White Fang were smart, information was kept solely by a few people and not even written. His best bet would be to hang around a White Fang base in his stealth suit for a few hours. Unfortunately, the White Fang seemed to have wisened up as they no longer kept the locations of any of their bases anywhere he could access. Even in messages, the bases were always referred to by code names. He would need another strategy. And he had a very good idea of where to start. All crime organizations were connected after all.

Now however, he needed to set things in motion before he could go off on what might well be a wild goose chase. One he had reached the privacy of his lodgings, he immediately transportalpondered to the Sink. A door and an elevator ride later, he was at the Think Tank.

"So, Gentlemen, and Dala," he added, "I have compiled a list things that I need you to develop for my endeavors in Remnant."

The Courier erased calculations from a chalkboard that he had no idea when it had first appeared. The calculations were worthless, someone trying to find a formula to convert light to cheese. Gouda, specifically. Anyway, he then drew up the list of things he needed from the Think Tank.

Defense Robots.

Stipulations: Must be capable of being mass produced. Dust powered. Must use only conventional (bullets and missiles) weaponry. Must have advanced IFF system and facial recognition.

Long range rocket artillery.

Stipulations: Must be laser targeted. Yield must not be nuclear. Can be based in the Big Empty and missiles transportalpondered to Remnant. Delivery time must be under five min. Must have a safe distance of 150m.

Supersonic Fighter-bomber.

Stipulations: Does not need to have VTOL capabilities. Needs to be capable of being mass produced on a fairly large scale. Does not need to be Dust powered. Cannot be fission powered. Armaments must be non-nuclear. Armaments must be conventional.

Large amounts of Saturnite alloy.

An IFV, APC, and MBT

Stipulations: See 3

Auto-turrets

Stipulations: See 1.

"Finally," said the Courier, "I first need a modification to my Pip-boy that will allow us to contact one another. I want updates when these are done. If you have any questions on the specifications, don't hesitate to ask me." The stipulations were worded as if he was trying to make a deal with a vindictive genie or a corporate lawyer. Only, the Think Tank would mess it up entirely out of ignorance rather than malice.

The Think Tank were visibly excited by the multitude of task put before them. Finally, they had something worthy of their combined ability. They dissolved into a series of conversations regarding who would do what and how.

"COURIER," said Klein, "COME OVER HERE." The Courier did. Klein affixed a device slightly over a centimeter in length to his Pip-boy.

"THAT WILL ALLOW US TO SEND YOU MESSAGES AND VICE VERSAI."

"I'll get back to it then", said the Courier, materializing the Transportalponder.

"YES. AND SO WILL I."

"Oh, and tell me if you need any materials."

The Courier disappeared. Now that his arsenal was getting ready, he would acquire the information needed to direct it. He had enough time to get that done before the tournament started.

 **AN:** The reviews are still broken. The newest episode was interesting in terms of backstory. Head on over to the forums to discuss it.


	66. Chapter 66 - Chasing Smoke

Chapter 64 - Chasing Smoke

* * *

The Lone Courier had made a little bit of a miscalculation. Vault-tec was now a household name on Remnant as well as on earth. Markus had tried to see the bright side of this new fame, but was failing dismally. All it meant was that he had to publish fake press releases and interviews with his father. The "stimulation delivery package" or stimpak for short, had proven to be more revolutionary than he had ever intended.

His primary concern when developing them had been that his enemies would be able to use them in a manner equivalent to how he and the rest of Earth used them in combat. When combined with how much Aura did here, he did not want to make killing his enemies nearly impossible.

The method by which he did this was that he designed the stimpaks to be firstly, much slower acting, and secondly, in the form of an IV. Thirdly, he made sure that they were marketed a hospital, not a battlefield solution.

What his newfound fame meant, was that despite his best efforts, a large number of people knew the name Friedrich and a significant amount of people were aware of his appearance. This was the unfortunate side effect of him being the only publicly visible of figure of an influential family.

And that was he why he was currently wearing his elite riot armor. With this on, even Pyrrha would be unable to identify him.

Currently, he was at that sketchy club that he had been to previously. The amount of thugs dressed the same he had noticed before had indicated organized crime. All criminal organizations of significant size at least knew of one another if they were not in contact outright. They had to know what was going on.

Of course, the information he was seeking was not the kind readily volunteered. Information about the criminal underworld was not handed out to outsides with any kind of eagerness. Despite this, he had no doubts he would acquire the information without much difficulty. Vault-tec gave him one hell of a carrot, and he had specially prepared one hell of a stick. If bribes failed, a little gunboat diplomacy would be sure to loosen tongues.

His entrance into the building was done with a certain amount of intended drama. His apparel was inherently intimidating, even without the legendary reputation of the NCR's Rangers to precede it. The glowing red lenses of the helmet gave it an almost demonic aura. The flapping duster from the light breeze of the impure city air made his entrance classically dramatic.

All eyes were on him once he opened the door. The stares followed him as he made his way to the bar. While his armor made him look intimidating, it meant that they would underestimate him less than usual. The bullet holes in the pauldron and the various dents and scratches from deflected projectiles told even the least perceptive observer that he had seen real combat, which was more than most watching were able to say.

The place seemed totally devoid of other patrons. Some odd "music" that sounded like someone was trying to murder a holotape while it tried to play back its recording added a strange ambience to the proceedings.

He waited for a moment at the bar.

"Can I get you anything?"

The man was tall, and the only one with his face uncovered. The Courier would have bet this man to be the person in charge here. While military sense would dictate that commanding officer be dressed the same as his subordinates, gangs were rarely known for their good tactical sense. No, the leader typically made a point to look different from his underlings.

"Yes. I'm looking for some information. Tell me everything you know about the White Fang's operations and Roman Torchwick."

The music cut and every single goon in the building turned to look at him.

"Yeah...that's not going to happen, buddy." The man was now hefting a bat. What he hoped to do with that against armor meant to stop bullets, Markus was not sure. Still, he did not know how far Aura went in these types of scenarios. He had been in relatively little open combat with Aura equipped persons.

Of course, the Lone Courier had suspected something like this would happen. In fact, he had planned it to.

So, he put the contents of both his hands on the bar. From his left, a stack of Lien, from his right, a device with a trigger and no discernible barrel.

"Your choice," he said. The helmet distorted his voice.

The man seemed unsure of what he was looking at.

"Is that a-"

"It is a detonator. I would advise that you choose your next course of action very carefully."

"You're bluffing," the man said with a painfully weak facade of bravery.

The Courier picked up the detonator, "Perhaps you require a demonstration?"

The man visibly blanched at that.

"Okay, just-don't blow the place up. I don't know anything, Torchwick hired my men and they never came back. That's it."

"And the White Fang?"

"I never had any dealing with them, they despise humans anyway."

"Cut the shit. Everyone knows everyone in this business, especially an information broker. I want names."

The Courier's finger hovered near the trigger.

"I only know one, and it's not that special. Taurus. Adam Taurus. Big shot in the White Fang. Red markings on his mask. That's all I know. That's all _anyone_ knows."

Markus shoved the Lien at him and walked towards the exit, feeling the stares on his back.

"Wait! Aren't you going to take the explosives?"

"Consider it an 'insurance policy'," said the Courier, "I was never here."

With that, he exited the building.

Immediately upon getting clear of the entrance, he changed into his stealthsuit, and set off back to his current base of operations.

This had been a total, utter failure. The only positive thing about this, was that he had not made things worse. All he got was a name. A name was, as far as he could tell, entirely useless. The fact that the man he had fought was named Adam Taurus did nothing for him. He could not use this information to act against the White Fang or even locate one of their bases.

It was his own fault that this had been a failure. He should have known that the criminal underworld would have steered clear of terrorist organizations. No, only someone directly associated with the White Fang would know solid information. Even law enforcement had no idea.

There was only one source he knew of that he could rely on for information on the inside of the White Fang. Although, he didn't have a great feeling about this. If he had to delay until the Vytal tournament it would severely limit his ability to act on that information.

* * *

 **AN:** Reviews are working again!


	67. Chapter 67 - Fumbling In the Dark

Chapter 65 - Fumbling In the Dark

* * *

"Blake. What a coincidence meeting you here." It was clear to her from his tone that this was anything _but_ a coincidence. Even without the tone, the idea that Markus, of all people, was in a café that Blake frequented was ridiculous.

She frequented the café because she knew the owners were friendly to Faunus. This meant that the "better sort" typically avoided this place. Blake would have had a hard time deciding who was less likely to be here, Weiss or him.

"Markus. This is one of the last places I would expect to find you," she said almost questioningly.

She sat down across from him. Her natural curiosity insisted that she discovered why exactly he would track her down.

"You look better," he said as they received their respective drinks.

Blake furrowed her brow slightly, momentarily confused as to what he meant by that. Her confusion cleared when she remember he had last seen her.

"Yeah, I started taking things more slowly after some advice from Yang."

"Yang? I wouldn't think of her as the one to advise people to 'take it slow'," he said.

It seemed to be an attempt by him to keep the conversation light. As Blake looked at him, he seemed to look well, worse. He had dark rings and deep bags under his eyes. The eyes themselves were slightly bloodshot yet they held a fierce energy. Blake recognised the symptoms of that which she was all too well acquainted to. And Blake had a sneaking suspicion why he was sleep deprived.

"Markus. What is this about?" she asked bluntly.

"I presume that you have continued in your 'activities' despite the fact that a certain 'criminal mastermind' has been apprehended."

"Of course," she said. Blake was not entirely sure why he was asking but she did not like where she thought this was headed.

"Recently, I have been searching for any information I could find about a certain organization." Blake understood what he was saying. As they were in a relatively public place, talking about terrorist organizations would not be the best idea. Still, it sounded all too familiar.

"Did you find anything?" she ventured.

"Nothing actionable. That's why I came to you."

"I haven't gotten anything concrete yet either. If I had, you would have known," she said defeatedly.

Markus exhaled and sat back. Evidently both of them had hit dead ends. Scratch that, it wasn't that they had hit dead ends, worse than that, they had utterly failed to find the trail.

"There was one thing I got, a name."

Blake was immediately panicking internally.

"Adam Taurus. Supposedly a person of importance in this organization. Is that helpful?"

"Why do you think that _I_ would know him?", said Blake far too quickly and far too defensively. She realised her mistake. She had attempted to prepare a response to his predicted question and had accidentally incriminated herself. The question was a ridiculous one anyway. She used to _in_ the White Fang. It was only natural that one would assume she knew things.

Blake realised that she was a _really_ bad liar. A major inconvenience for someone with many secrets. A potentially deadly one.

Markus, merely raised his eyebrow at this. Blake, somewhat flustered, tried to use some on Yang's rhetoric against him. He was doing what she had done: obsessing over the White Fang.

"You don't look so good."

"What?" Markus seemed genuinely taken aback by this. Evidently he had not noticed his condition.

"You know, the whole dark rings around bloodshot eyes thing. It's not healthy."

"I never really noticed. Besides, I'm used to it."

"Sleep deprivation isn't healthy; you'll wear yourself out."

"So what, you want me to 'slow down'? Time is not a luxury I possess."

"It's not a luxury, it's a necessity," Blake recited.

"That's true." His agreement threw her off. Just as it was intended to. "And it must therefore be used to maximum effectiveness. Sleeping does not progress my goals. Don't worry about me Blake, I can take care of myself. Now," he said, leaning forward and steepling his fingers, "who is Adam Taurus?"

"You and Pyrrha fought him," said Blake finally, "He was my mentor, a long time ago. And before you ask, no I don't know where he is."

"I see," said Markus, sounding very tired all of a sudden. Blake was slightly concerned as he was typically a very reserved person.

Abruptly, he stood. "Very well, I will keep you updated if I find anything. I expect you to do the same."

"Of course," said Blake reflexively.

"It's been a pleasure," he said before leaving. Blake exhaled and sank deeper into her seat. That had been an utter failure on multiple levels.

* * *

For the second time in as many days, the Courier was feeling the pain of a total defeat, something which he did not feel often. He had nothing. Absolutely nothing. No way to find the White Fang, not a even a way to find a way to find the White Fang. All that basically meant that was that he did not have a snowball's chance in hell of finding out even the remotest inkling of their plans or who was holding the reigns. So, in the meantime, he was reduced to preparing for an unspecified threat at an unspecified time.

There was at least one good thing that had happened. Well, two, more accurately. According to the scroll tab on his Pip-boy, he had two messages. One from the Think Tank, and one from Pyrrha. He opened the one from the Think Tank first. Finally, some good news. It was the schematics for the artillery.

The device was a thing of beauty. The Courier was almost equally impressed with the Think Tank's ability to so quickly adapt to the technology of the Scroll. He sent off orders for a decent amount of the components of the weapons to be built and then assembled at a different location by a fully automated assembly line. Unfortunately the strategic positioning of the launchers would necessitate the involvement of humans. He would just give the idea that they were being moved to locations for sale to Atlas. In the specifications, he ensured that the electronics would be attuned to the frequency of his laser detonator.

The actual design of the launcher was a testament to the brilliant madness that was the Think Tank. It was essentially the back of the standard mobile rocket artillery of the pre-war military, except shaped conically. The barrels that held the various missiles formed a huge cone shape that blinked with numerous lights and wires connecting them. These "pods" were reloaded by a robot that was attached. The Courier ensured that there was a more than sufficient stockpile of ammunition with each of the weapons. It was a tactical weapon, incapable of a rate of fire comparable to that of gun artillery. Instead, it delivered a singular devastating salvo on a precision target.

The missiles themselves had been designed by the Think Tank. They were a veritable bouquet of death, flavored in napalm, white phosphorous, and various kinds of Dust. The presence of the first two made the Courier hesitant to use it on human (or Faunus) targets, especially with any of his team present. Both of those were a nasty way to go.

The Courier made a mental note to create some simple gun artillery for helping to contain the Grimm threat. He could distribute that, and potentially create a more advanced model that he would keep hidden until it was necessary. If the war that's going to break out was between kingdoms, he wanted to make sure only his side got them. He sent the order to the Think Tank.

 _Create self propelled howitzer. Must be non nuclear._ With it, he sent a stolen schematic for the German Panzerhaubitze 2000 as an example of what he was looking for. Knowing the Think Tank, they would likely try to one-up it. He could handle the simpler version.

Of course, then the Courier had to deal with his social obligations. And therefore, after sending orders to manufacture rocket artillery and hide them throughout the world, he read Pyrrha's message.


	68. Chapter 68 - The Man in the Arena

Chapter 66 - The Man in the Arena

* * *

The message from Pyrrha was actually nothing significant. Just something regarding training for the tournament. Markus found the idea to be a good one, as he had no idea what he was planning to do in the tournament.

His usual methods didn't seem to be..appropriate. All of his close combat techniques were very much based around ending the fight within three moves or less, and the quicker the better. His unarmed was even worse for this kind of thing, incorporating lethal points, bone breaks, and grappling. None of which he thought would go down well in an arena scenario. His moves were appropriate for a battlefield, not a tournament.

So, he decided that some practice would not be a bad idea. Besides, now that Pyrrha had suggested it, it wasn't like he could refuse. While he did have more important things to do, what he was working on was not a matter of hours. There was nothing that was truly pressing. The main work was done in the Think Tank and in factories.

Nora and Ren responded saying they would be late as they were fairly far away. The whole venture was rather rushed, as Pyrrha had only planned it a day in advance. He said he would be there and headed back to his base of operations.

In hindsight, it was a good thing that he had stayed with his initial location. He had been contemplating moving to one of the other properties he now possessed further outside the city for the purpose of maintaining appearances. It would have also been beneficial in that he would have better equipment for his development. He had simply been too busy to be bothered with something that was largely superfluous. Now, Markus' preoccupation had proven to be to his advantage.

He received a new message from the Think Tank, asking about caliber of the main gun on the tank he had asked for. His response gave them almost free reign.

 _Minimum is 120mm. Ensure smart-shell capability. Remnant had poor armor piercing capabilities. Extremely heavy armor superfluous. I'm looking for a Sherman, not a Tiger Keep manufacturing costs low. Keep crew size low. Keep coaxial armaments .50 cal. Keep me posted -Courier Six_

The tank needed to be capable of being mass produced at an extremely high rate in order to arm a nation at a moment's notice. All of the vehicles being developed did. It did not matter how tactically effect the tanks were if he was incapable of manufacturing them in strategically significant quantities. He spent the rest of the day working on the gun artillery. The shattered crescent of the moon was well past its zenith when he finally went to sleep.

* * *

Fortunately for the Courier, the next day came mercifully quickly. Once he was properly awake, his first order of business in preparing for the business of tournament fighting was to determine what weapon(s) to use.

Considering that this tournament was a fairly big deal, a certain degree of dramatics was required. While the Lone Courier had done gladiatorial style fights before, he had never been concerned with making the fight entertaining. In fact, he typically made sure that the fight had the least entertainment value possible out of spite.

So, he analyzed the weapons in his Pip-boy. A gun was not imposing enough to be used as his primary weapon. A prolonged firefight or him simply gunning down his opponents with supernatural accuracy did not make a good show.

Of course, there was no doubt that he would carry Maria on him. After all, he might encounter someone who might require a more direct solution. At the very least, it could be used for suppressing fire. No, he would need a primary melee weapon, and one with dramatic flair. The dress cane, while suiting his persona, would be too fragile and he didn't trust his Aura to be enough to reinforce it, especially with the force _he_ was capable of exerting. The ballistic fist would be too much against his persona and too much like Yang's weapons. Besides, three shotgun shells combined with the amount the thing weighed made it entirely possible for him to inadvertently do lethal damage. While Aura was very powerful, he was taking no chances.

In the end, Markus settled for Old Glory as his main weapon. He would keep Jingwei's Shocksword on his left and an assortment of small guns concealed in his jacket. If things went badly, he did not have the ability to use his Pip-boy without causing suspicion.

With that, he set off to the location that Pyrrha had sent to the team. Really, it should have been him arranging this thing as _he_ was team leader after all. The fact was, he had more critical things to do. It was between preparing for war and preparing for a festival tournament. A famous international tournament true, but an unnecessary event none the less. Still, Markus felt a duty to help the members of his team. He did not want his infiltration of Beacon to hurt anyone.

The location was some form of training facility in Vale. It figured that Pyrrha would know its location based on her prestige as a tournament fighter. Despite the fact that she was not a native, it was the kind of thing she would do.

The Lone Courier's typical mode of transportation was being driven by a professional, as was expected for someone of his status. He made sure that they were heavily vetted. As he approached the destination, he thought that he had better design a safer vehicle. Now that Vault-tec had increased in fame, a White Fang assassination attempt on himself was increasingly likely. It would be a hell of a shame for him to end by a means as ignoble as a landmine or IED from what amounted to a second rate terrorist organization.

The building was large, and had many windows too high to see through. When he entered, he saw that Pyrrha was alone in the spacious interior. There were various training apparatus throughout the place. Pyrrha was currently firing her weapon at a target. Every shot was perfect. The Courier was impressed, but not entirely surprised. He did wonder how she would fare against moving targets. It was rare for an enemy to be standing still for long enough to aim at them. Still, he did not underestimate her skill. Aura made the people of Remnant far more mobile than their Earthly counterparts. Pyrrha was likely not a stranger to moving targets.

"Not bad," he said facetiously.

"Markus!" said Pyrrha, with a ridiculous looking smile.

"Hello," he said as he gave a slight wave, "I see that Nora and Ren haven't arrived yet."

Pyrrha furrowed her brow, "Yes, I should have planned this better, it's just, there's so little time."

Markus nodded. "So, how do you want to start?"

Pyrrha was slightly startled by the ball being thrown so suddenly into her court.

"I-I guess we could do-um target practice?"

The Courier nodded. Target practice was not something he was particularly interested in. He drew Maria in his right hand, disengaged the safety, and emptied the magazine into the direct center of the target. He reloaded the weapon and holstered it.

"Perhaps we should do some sparring," he asked innocently. Pyrrha's eyes narrowed eagerly.

"Of course", she said.

They walked towards the arena area of the facility. Pyrrha tapped on her Scroll and a portrait of both of them appeared on the wall with an Aura percentage bar next to it. The Courier materialized Old Glory. Unlike his own, the version of Old Glory that Ulysses had given him had a silver pole. In it, was etched the Bear of the New California Republic.

"Ready?" asked Pyrrha.

"Always."

And so it began.

* * *

 **AN:** Reminder to check out the forum to discuss the recent episode. Volume 3 episode 8 is out now.


	69. Chapter 69 - Dulled Polaris

**AN:** New cover!

* * *

Chapter 67 - Dulled Polaris

* * *

The fight started anti-climatically. Both combatant backed away from one another, and began to circle one another. Pyrrha acted first. She transformed her sword into its javelin form and hefted it at the Courier.

Markus had always had a pretty good reaction time. Not enough to avoid a javelin at less than three meters, but pretty good none the less. It was his wired synapses that dilated his perception of time in the presence of adrenaline that allowed him to grab the weapon out of the air with his left hand. Pyrrha's weapon was actually remarkably heavy. he supposed increased weight was one of the problems caused by multi-form weapons. He wondered if he should make one of his own. That would take too long. Besides, the more moving parts, the more fragile a weapon was.

The surprised expression on Pyrrha's face was soon mirrored in his mind as he felt the weapon tear from his grip and return to Pyrrha's hand where she transformed it back into its sword form. She then launched herself at him in a flurry of attacks.

The Courier was pushed on the defensive. It was clear that she was far more skilled with her weapon than he was with his. While he was an expert with all melee weapons, she was a master at the use of her own. The only thing that kept him from getting hit was his superior reflexes. He simply reacted to each of her strikes faster than she could. Her attacks were relentless, allowing him no room for offense. She used her shield to further crowd him and prevent him from doing anything other than reacting. In many instances he was forced to dodge rather than block.

Then, she did something with little tactical sense and lots of flair. She flipped over him. Very much a flashy move. Unfortunately for her, while performing the acrobatic feat, she was vulnerable, and the Lone Courier had the reflexes needed to take advantage of it. He smashed the golden eagle head of the staff into her. She landed on one knee and skid backwards about a meter. Her Aura was not significantly damaged.

Pyrrha launched herself back at him with unabated ferocity. As she came at him, he launched his own series of attacks, relying heavily on feints to keep her occupied and the greater length of his weapon to keep her at a distance. However, Pyrrha transformed her own weapon into a spear, with even greater reach. Markus parried its singular point of damage aside and moved in. He activated VATS. The reason he did this was because he had a very short window of time in which he could strike before Pyrrha changed her weapon back into its sword form. While Aura protected from actual damage, it did not protect from pain. He therefore targeted various nerve clusters meant to weaken her. As he could not match her skill, at least not with his current methods, his best bet was to weaker her.

He attempted a peroneal strike on both her legs as well as a strike to her right shoulder muscle. If successful, this would disable both her legs and disarm her as well as make her right arm unusable for a short period. All effects would be temporary and not particularly painful. VATS gave it a 95% chance each. While Pyrrha was in very good shape, she lacked the muscle mass to render virtually any pressure points ineffective. Even a single one of these strikes would be capable of turning the fight. She could not do without any one of her limbs after all. It was over.

But then, the inexplicable happened. Not a single of the strikes hit, all missed by inches, almost as if deflected by an unseen force. The percentage chance of missing three hits in a row was 0.0125%. It was so ridiculous to the Courier that he actually put a good three meters between him and Pyrrha in order to give him time to think this through.

His mind whirred as he thought through all the possible explanations as to how this had happened. There was no way his luck could be _this_ bad.

A possible explanation was that his Pip-boy was slightly damaged, leading to each of his blows falling slightly short. That didn't make any sense however as there was nothing that could have damaged it. Besides, the Pip-boy had never shown more than a scratch despite the many times bullets or shrapnel had collided with it. That left only one conclusion: it had something to do with Pyrrha.

He knew from the food fight that Pyrrha had some kind of kinesis as she was capable of moving the soda cans without touching them. Perhaps she was capable of using her semblance to deflect his blows. That was a hypothesis worth testing.

So, basically his plan was to try to hit Pyrrha as much as possible and see if this phenomena could be repeated, making extensive use of VATS all the while. It was not the most creative of plans, but as far as plans go, simpler was typically better.

Markus advanced at Pyrrha, delivering his own series of lightning strikes. The sword and shield combination that Pyrrha favored combined with her prodigious skill, meant that any openings would now need to forced. He could not rely on exploiting her mistakes. Deception was his ally.

He faked a missed overhead swing and intentionally took a follow-up shield bash from her. The force was far greater than it should have been, the effects of Aura apparent. Despite this, he moved in as Pyrrha did the same. He activated VATS once again. He targeted much broader areas, whole limbs. He was much less interested in finishing the fight, and more with testing his hypothesis. He was solely focused on learning Pyrrha's capabilities. Once again, all the strikes missed, diverted at the last second. It was settled, Pyrrha was capable of deflecting attacks using her semblance.

No plan survives contact with the enemy however, as Pyrrha capitalized on his wasted motion and unleashed her own attack. She smashed her elbow into his solar plexus. This hurt, but as he was used to getting shot and pounded by super mutants, he did not budge. However, there was a distinctive shattering sound and a peculiar glow covered him. A buzzer sounded. He caught Pyrrha's sword in his empty hand a few centimeters from his throat.

"That's the match," he said.

In his planning, he had not taken his stunted Aura into account. It was only now that he realized that he did not be defeated to lose, only take a certain amount of hits, and a very small amount of hits at that.

"That's it?" said Pyrrha, somewhat dazed by the sudden end of the fight. To her, the fight seemed to be nowhere near over. Markus did not seem remotely damaged or even fatigued from it.

"Why's your Aura so…" she asked.

"Weak?" he supplied, and launched into his story.

"My father has had chronic illness all his life, meaning he was never in a state to be unlocking anyone's Aura and my mother died in childbirth. Paranoia on my father's part prevented the proper unlocking of my Aura. What I currently have is the best I could do myself. Not very effective, but good enough."

"I could unlock your Aura," said Pyrrha a little hesitantly, "I mean, it would be helpful for the tournament."

"If you think it's a good idea," he said, speaking no less hesitantly than she did. Markus was placing a great deal of trust in Pyrrha. He was literally allowing her to mess with his soul.

Pyrrha stepped closer to him and put her hand on his shoulder.

"Now, close your eyes and concentrate."

The Courier did so silently, but apprehensively. He could feel his own Aura, weak and feeble, and also Pyrrha's strong and well trained one. He heard Pyrrha's voice in his mind saying something very strange.

 _For it is in passing that we achieve immortality. Through this, we become a paragon of virtue and glory to rise above all, infinite in distance and unbound by death. I release your soul, and by my shoulder protect thee._

Markus opened his eyes, he was glowing. His entire body was radiating Aura. Pyrrha suddenly hunched over. He grabbed her shoulder.

"Pyrrha?"

"I'm fine, unlocking your Aura took a lot out of me. I'll recover in a couple minutes."

He nodded and released her shoulder. He was relieved that that had gone as well as it had. The last thing he wanted was to accidentally damage Pyrrha.

As Pyrrha started to look better, he asked, "Out of interest," he paused before looking directly at her, "What's your semblance?"

"Oh," she said, "My semblance is polarity."

"You're going to need to be a bit more specific than that, polarity has a lot definitions, especially scientific ones."

"It allows me to control magnetism and through that move metal objects."

While this explained to Markus how all his attacks had proven unable to hit, and completely defied all kinds of laws of physics, to him there was a more significant aspect. With her semblance, Pyrrha was one of the few people who could kill him. If Pyrrha chose to, at any time she could easily end his life, and that was enough to send a chill down his spine.

* * *

 **AN:** As usual, make sure to review and visit the forum.


	70. Chapter 70 - On Tactics

Chapter 68 - On Tactics

* * *

Pyrrha was recovering quickly from her momentary exhaustion. The sensation of having a fully functional Aura was somewhat novel to the Courier. It gave him the mental feeling he typically had in power armor; that he could take quite a lot of damage without so much as a scratch.

That however, was not what occupied his thoughts. Instead the Lone Courier's mind buzzed with the implications of Pyrrha's semblance. Pyrrha was able to alter a metal object's polarity, though with some limitations. The most significant, was that she needed to touch something before she could manipulate it. That meant that she was still entirely vulnerable to bullets.

He was conflicted on whether he was glad Pyrrha was not impervious to bullets. It meant that he could easily defeat her with conventional weapons. However, it also meant that she was not capable of defending herself from enemy fire, which was a disappointment. In the end, he concluded that it would have been more convenient for him if Pyrrha had been capable of deflecting bullets. The odds of him having to fight Pyrrha to the death were too remote for him to consider her abilities as anything other than an asset. He honestly did not think Pyrrha had it in her to kill anyone. He doubted anyone he had met on Remnant did.

The fact that Pyrrha was capable of killing him on a whim was refreshing. It was not usual for him to feel a serious threat to his life. Markus realized that with the power Pyrrha held he had to either kill her or trust her. Markus was entirely unwilling to entertain the possibility of killing Pyrrha, especially for a reason so selfish as his own life. In the end, the fact that Pyrrha could kill him in an instant He supposed that it gave him a good reason to stay on Pyrrha's good side.

He was brought from his contemplation by Pyrrha's recovery.

"So, what shall we do now?" she asked.

Markus noted that she had now placed him in charge of this venture, despite the fact that she was the one that had planned it. He then quickly came up with an idea.

"Any idea when Nora and Ren will be here?" he asked, temporarily ignoring her question.

Naturally, both of them entered the building before Pyrrha even had a chance to respond.

"Well that simplifies things," he said to no one in particular.

"Sorry we're late," said Nora speaking as quickly and energetically as usual, "we were _really_ far away when we got Pyrrha's message, and Ren didn't eat enough pancakes so _I_ had to eat them…" She kept going through the Courier lost track of what she was saying.

"Nora.." said Ren admonishingly.

"Oh!" she seemed surprised at how long she had gone on for, "anyway, we're here now, and we're ready!"

"Good," said Markus. "I will be defining terms we will be using to plan our tactics. They will largely be composed of jargon so that we are capable of communicating a plan without our opponents knowing what we are saying."

"The first and one of the most critical concepts to be established, is that of suppressing fire. Suppressing or covering fire is the concept of firing at the enemy not to hit them, but to prevent them from moving. So, if someone says 'suppressing fire', fire as many shots as possible at the target. The object is to force them to seek cover and be unable to act against us."

While Markus' lecture had initially been created by looks of confusion, they had gradually changed to ones of understanding.

"Use the numbers of a clock face to give directional information. It will both confuse our opponents and give us more accurate information. Next term: Overwatch. It means find high ground and support the rest of us from there, typically by suppressing the enemy to allow us to move."

"That's all for the jargon, just some general advice: make sure you know at least the general area of where everyone else on the team is. Try not to get separated and try to separate our opponents. The optimal scenario is to separate the enemy and group up on them to eliminate them one at a time. That's it. Anything particular you want to practice?" he asked, throwing them all off for a second. Except Nora.

"Let's hit things!"

"Any objections?" asked Markus. There were none.

* * *

The Lone Courier was reasonably satisfied with how the practice had gone. "Reasonably satisfied" was a serious understatement. In the span of a few hours, his Aura had been unlocked, he had learned Pyrrha's semblance, gave his team a crash course in military commands, and practiced working as a team. The event was one that was more productive than he had imagined in his most optimistic of dreams.

Now, he turned his attention to the work in front of him. His design for the gun artillery to be sold to Atlas was nearly complete. It was based off the British 25 pounder gun-howitzer. With Atlas' spotty track record, he was wary with arming them with advanced technology. His own Brotherhood of Steel inclinations suggested to him that arming a group that had made an AI with a soul with state of the art of weapons was likely a poor idea. That was why he had settled on the design he had. Even the strictest of adherents to the Brotherhood's codex would not protest him supplying 1930's era technology.

The basis for supplying these weapons was that they would be used against the Grimm.

The concept he had was that a sufficient number of this guns deployed at the borders of a settlement would be sufficient to break up even the largest of Grimm ground attacks. A dense hail of artillery shells should be capable of securing even the most isolated location from attack.

With that came the realization that any settlement defended by these would still be vulnerable to attack from the air. While the M2 .50 cal would be sufficient for killing even the largest airborne Grimm, he was not keen to release a .50 caliber machine gun to the open market. It would make warfare too deadly. As it was, this artillery could easily be neutralized in a war between humans by close air support.

He sent the final draft in for production and orders for the marketing team. The hope was that this could be released as soon as possible. He had no idea when whatever was going to happen was going to happen. While that frustrated him to no end, it did not stop him from preparing with all his force.

Tomorrow, he would see what problems he could solve.


	71. Chapter 71 - Sacrifice

Chapter 69 - Sacrifice

* * *

The Lone Courier was running out of time. It would not be long until the Vytal Festival Tournament. He had no idea what was coming, so he was trying to prepare for everything. All he knew was that it was war. He was aware his efforts were desperate venture. Attempting to prepare for everything was not something with high odds of success. Despite his pessimism, Markus knew he had made tremendous progress.

His strategically placed rocket artillery would allow him to devastate areas with pinpoint accuracy anywhere he went.

The 25 pounder that paid representatives of Vault-tec were currently marketing to Atlas should allow the creation of impervious defenses against Grimm.

If the Grimm proved to be the source of this war, he would distribute the .50 cals. When used in conjunction with the 25 pounders, it would allow the creation of massive killing fields in which nothing could survive. He felt reasonably confident in his preparations for ground attacks by Grimm. Of course, this relied on the concept that the attack should take place far enough in the future for Atlas to have deployed the artillery. It was not particularly mobile nor was it useful for reclaiming territory. Artillery could only be used for area denial when the area it was bombarding was worthless.

Yet, despite his successes, there were infinitely more things to be done. Everything he had sent to the Think Tank would be very much needed if-when the war breaks out. He hoped he had time enough to get it all done, but the Courier knew he could not rely on hope.

There was one critical possibility he needed to plan for. There was the very real possibility that this war would be a conventional one between the armed forces of various nations.

In his time on Remnant, Atlas was the only credible military Markus had seen. they also seemed to be an entirely military run state, something that did not sit well with the Courier as that type of a regime had a poor record in regards to liberty and overall, the structure reminded him too much of the Legion. This combined with their virtual occupation of Vale, Atlas would be the most likely aggressor. And if they did attack, he had no way to stop them.

Before long, he had an idea. The issue was, he did not particularly _like_ this idea. That was putting it mildly. However before he could contemplate more on his options,he received a new message. This one was from the Think Tank. It was the specifications for the tank.

It appeared that the Think Tank had access to exclusively German pre-war vehicle specifications as this vehicle seemed to be a specially modified form of the Leopard 2A9. There was one glaring difference, this version had three 140mm barrels. The barrels themselves were nearly 7 meters long. Upon closer inspection, another modification appeared to be the addition of a 60mm mortar that can be fired internally. The Courier made a mental note to send the Think Tank a message with a request for the schematics of various ammunition types. He could modify them himself to be Dust compatible. It would be better to keep the Think Tank focused on more innovative projects.

Naturally, the tank had four machine guns that could all be controlled by an internal terminal. Two were .50 caliber while the other two were 7.62 mm. The combination would allow one of these vehicles to break up even enormous waves of Grimm and wreak untold destruction upon more human enemies.

The tank also had a plethora of cheap but effective defenses. It had softkill electronic countermeasures as a form of active protection against sensor based weaponry. The measures could typically confuse the targeting of homing missiles as well as any other device that attempted to electronically lock on to the vehicle. In addition, the tank was painted with the Barracuda camouflage system that conceals it from infrared and radar. It was certified as mine and IED proof. The Think Tank had made it the perfect vehicles for counterterrorism.

Of course, all these measures that were so crucial in the Old World would be useless in a conflict with the Grimm. Grimm did not use radar or homing missiles. He hoped the triple 140mm cannons would be enough to take down the giant Grimm that threatened civilization. He did not want to have to mount railroad guns on tanks. Though, that did give him an idea…

He willfully returned his wandering mind to what he was doing. The armor itself was thinner than most pre-war main battle tanks. This was to keep the manufacturing costs down as well as the fact that there was little chance of conflict with other tanks. Its armor was made of depleted uranium and covered with reactive armor. The reactive armor was key in its ability to be both light and highly durable.

The other significant advantage that the Think Tank version had, was that it had an automatic loader, allowing the tank to operate with a total of three crew members. The less crew members needed to operate a tank, the more tanks he could theoretically have in operation. It would be a severe issue to have more tanks than could be manned.

The Dust based engine was both extraordinary and a hindrance. Dust, was not a highly efficient substance in terms of energy per volume compared to nuclear power. Of course, he should have expected this. Pre-war tanks, especially those of the first world, were based on fission, and the more advanced ones, fusion. There was no way that Dust could have ever even come close to matching the output.

So, what he was left with was a tank with limited range and and oversized fuel compartment. While this was not ideal, the Think Tank had noticed this and sent him an alternate fusion powered design. He was not willing to distribute nuclear power under virtually any circumstances. Besides, the limited range would probably be a non-issue. He was planning for a static defense, not a blitzkrieg.

Overall, the tank was an excellent one, one that certainly would have been capable of winning wars in the pre-war. The Courier realized that with his technology and the manufacturing of Remnant, as well as a decent pool of manpower, he could likely conquer the entirety of North America. Even power armor can't stand up to the main blasts of a tank cannon. He dismissed such thoughts.

Perhaps he might aid the NCR in uniting the continent, but he had no desire to rule. Administration was not in his skillset. Besides, he did not feel he was deserving of such power. Hell, he didn't feel like he deserved as much power as he currently had, but at the time he had not seen any alternative. It was either get stronger or die. Hundreds of Enclave, raiders, and legionnaires, killed without so much as a chance to fight back.

Shaking his to clear it of the unwanted thoughts, Markus stood up and sent the schematics for production, making sure to take his usual precautions. He then materialized a bottle of scotch, downing it quickly before discarding the bottle. He needed to order some more alcohol. He had yet to see what Remnant had to offer on that front.

Markus started pacing in front of the tinted window while returning to his quandary about the moral implication of what he intended as his "solution" to Atlas. His window was tinted because he had enough enemies that snipers were likely if his location were discovered. He even had the window designed to conceal his heat signature.

The reason that this was even a dilemma to him, was that his only potential was one that would leave a lot of people dead. There was one person in particular that he was feeling guilty about even before having ordered anything. The fact was, that logically speaking, the creation of this contingency was the only moral thing he could do. Atlas needed to be checked. He needed to have a fail safe. The other issue was the danger of sabotage. If his contingency was activated by an unknown party either as an act of sabotage or as an innocent accident, it would cripple, if not destroy Atlas.

However, on his logical side, the risk was justified by how aggressive and almost expansionist Atlas seemed. The fleet currently hovering over Vale justified a plan to destroy it. His problem, was that even should Atlas attack and attempt to conquer all the other kingdoms and implement fascist rule he did not know if he could or would do it. To kill an innocent was something he hoped never to do and to his knowledge had never done, with the exception of euthanasia. However, he could not damn countless other innocents simply because he was unwilling to let one die.

So, it was with a heavy heart that he quickly sent the orders to Think Tank, as if trying to send it before he could stop himself.

The EMP bearing missile would be ready within mere hours. The schematics needed no modification, only manufacturing by the robots. An EMP would smash the Atlas fleet out of the sky and destroy all of their robots. While the deaths of the Atlas soldiers would weigh on his conscience, they would be enemy combatants at that point. There was one in particular who was excluded from this group of valid targets. His guilt was only compounded by going through with the decision. He only had one thought left in his mind:

 _I'm sorry, Penny._

* * *

 **AN:** As usual, make sure to review and post your questions and opinions on the forum.


	72. Chapter 72 - DEFCON 4

**AN:** Well, fuck. Everyone who's seen the last episode knows what I'm talking about. Once this story reaches sometime around episode nine, it will have to go on a hiatus. Basically, the updates will be timed with episodes and will be of a much higher quality. I intend for the show to stay several episodes ahead of the story.

* * *

Chapter 70 - DEFCON 4

* * *

The name "Amity Colosseum" was amusing to the Courier. Amity, meaning amicable relations, combined with something like a colosseum was highly ironic. A place in which slaves and prisoners of war were forced to fight to the death for the amusement of their captors, prefaced by "friendliness".

Sitting in the stadium, he was more than impressed by its size. He had expected an arena similar to that of the original colosseum or something like the pre-war stadiums. Not a floating megalith. Remnant had far greater resources than he had previously imagined if this was something that they could create merely for something as trivial as a tournament for a festival. An international festival true, but with four city states making up the entirety of Remnant "international" meant far less here.

The Amity Colosseum seemed to Markus to be the pinnacle of Remnant's excess and decadence. He knew that poverty was still an issue and that the majority of the continents were infested with huge numbers of bloodthirsty animals so it was not like there was no better use of resources than this contraption. Had they instead made a fleet of bombers or invested in defense research, the Grimm might not be a threat anymore.

He did not entirely want to be here, at the very least his presence served no tangible purpose towards his ultimate goals. In his opinion, this entire tournament was merely Remnant's equivalent of bread and circuses, trying to distract people from the imminent war. While keeping morale up was not a bad idea, distracting people from imminent death and destruction with trivial things like festivals was more likely to be harmful than helpful. Especially with an ongoing war with a terrorist organization. Public spectacles like this would be a prime target. He had noticed the presence of numerous Atlas guards but knew that armed guards, robotic or otherwise, would not be capable of deterring a fanatical attacker.

He took so consolation with the fact that the White Fang had not previously perpetrated attacks for the express purpose of killing as many civilians as possible. All operations performed by the White Fang had some purpose. If there was collateral damage, they weren't concerned by it, but it was not the objective. Below, Team RWBY had begun their match however he paid little attention.

While at first it would seem he had no reason to worry about the White Fang as since Torchwick had been captured they had not done anything-at least, to his knowledge. However, to his paranoid mind, that made an attack only more likely.

The Lone Courier had not lived as long as he had by being stupid. Quite the opposite in fact. So therefore, he did not for a second believe that the arrest of Torchwick had put the White Fang out of action. While he did not entirely dismiss the possibility, he found the idea that Torchwick was supreme leader highly unlikely. While the White Fang had obeyed his orders, he had stated it was a "business arrangement." That indicated that this was an alliance of convenience and likely a temporary one as well, if he was telling the truth of course.

However, the Courier did not give Torchwick enough credit to lie about something like that to throw them off the trail. So, Torchwick was quite clearly not really the one in charge of the White Fang. Extremists like them would never accept anyone other than a Faunus as leader. If Adam Taurus was indeed calling the shots, the Courier was not too worried. Taurus proved incapable of presenting any kind of threat to him when he was in power armor. The fact that Blake had connections with him meant that she would likely have the best knowledge of his psychology. However, that was not saying much. Taurus seemed to be largely an unknown.

Regardless, whoever was heading the White Fang had stopped attacks for two, not mutually exclusive, reasons that he could come up with. It could be to lull the population and authorities into a false sense of security by causing them to believe that the White Fang are out of action, and/or it is because all operations have been halted in preparation for a big decisive move. It was the latter of these that the Courier feared. There was little he could do in that situation. Counter terrorism was a technique, not a weapon that he could manufacture. Sure, he could make weapons good for CQB such as submachine guns, PDWs, and shotguns, but in the end, training and experience was what mattered and that was something he could not provide. If he had years, he could publish Old World counter-terrorism literature and training manuals that would be adopted and integrated by Atlas forces.

However, while he didn't know how much time he had, he knew he didn't have years. In fact, he knew that with the amount of bureaucracy in a military, most of his developments would not see widespread adoption until the war broke out and Atlas was desperate for solutions. Things simply did not work that fast. He made a mental note to discuss things with the Think Tank as soon as convenient. There were some additions and changes in priority he needed made. For now however, he watched team RWBY's fight. It would occupy his mind while he had nothing else to do and perhaps he might get a better idea of their fighting skills.

At this point, the entire team was scattered, all engaging their own respective target. There was a downside to his new attention: he could no longer ignore the annoying voices of the two announcers, Professor Port and Oobleck.

"Hoho!," said Port, "It seems we have another astonishing bout ahead of us! Wouldn't you agree, Professor?"

"Doctor," corrected Dr. Oobleck, "And yes, Peter, I think it's safe to say: this match may be one of the closest we've seen in the four-and-four round of the tournament!"

With supreme effort, the Courier ignored the rest of the commentary. He did this by analyzing each of the members of the opposing team, ABRN. The most obvious was some girl with neon hair in a hoodie on what appeared to a hoverboard. The hoverboard also appeared to be her weapon. There was a guy with pink hair and what appeared to be an uzi. How an Israeli weapon design ended up on Remnant was totally beyond him. However, that opened a whole new can of worms he was unwilling to address right now.  
As well, there was a girl in what appeared to be some kind of east asian dress that used some very showy martial arts. For whatever reason she was fighting Yang, who used a far less showy but likely equally inefficient form of fighting. The girl seemed to have some kind of string she used to trip Yang. He was unsure whether it was her primary weapon or some auxiliary weapon that he had not previously seen.

"Got your back!" said Ruby to Yang after freezing the kid with the pink hair from the waist down.

Ruby's sniper cover of her teammates was something that served to increase her accreditation as a tactical leader. It was the kind of thing that _he_ would do. However, this was almost immediately undercut.

"Who's got yours?" said some other guy with a bo staff. Two seconds later, White's legs connected with his chest. The Courier sighed. Cheesy one liners. It's like these kids think they're in a movie or something.

White and Ruby then teamed up on the bo staff kid. It was further proof of the their tactical adequacy. Of course, this situation could be a coincidence, but he was willing to give them the benefit of the doubt. They knocked him down, but then waited for him to get up. They had failed to capitalize on their advantage.

Blake used her clone semblance to trick the hoverboard girl go out of bounds. White used the arena's Dust to make a giant ice fist and grab both the male members of ABRN. This was then shattered by the martial arts girl. He assumed he used her semblance or something. However, her victory was short lived as team RWBY simply threw Yang at the remains of her team, eliminating all of them.

In the end, Markus found that he had not gained too much from being here. He had increased respect for Ruby's tactical sense, but that was it. He supposed that he was not here for any real benefit, but rather as an obligation. That didn't mean it irked him less that lives might be lost because he was here rather than preparing. He joined the crowd exiting the colosseum to meet back up with the rest of his team. It was hard to keep track of one another in crowds as large as these.


	73. Chapter 73 - Conventional Tactics

**AN:** If you think Pyrrha has it bad in canon, just wait, it will get worse.

* * *

Chapter 71 - Conventional Tactics

* * *

Once he had met up with his team, they attempted to talk about the match they had witnessed however Nora's babbling to Ren about the outcome stymied their efforts. Instead they merely walked around the fairgrounds casually looking for team RWBY. Markus had long previously learned the ability to tune out Nora. Looking to his right, he noticed that Pyrrha had evidently done the same. Ren was really taking one for the team here. Markus supposed that Ren was the best qualified to deal with Nora's antics. He did have years of experience after all.

It took a little while before they actually found team RWBY. They were at some kind of noodle shop. Apparently White was having a very first world problem.

"What?!," she said, "How can my card be declined? I was barely into my monthly allowance!"

The Courier immediately suspected foul play. Hacking SDC accounts was something that would be a plausible means of crippling the company. He knew White had no shortage of enemies from her father's company's questionable ethics and dubious records. However, draining the accounts of a global near monopoly was not something that was in any way viable. Not because of the technical aspects of actually hacking the accounts, but rather the fact that SDC had enough influence to undo and counter an attack of that scale.

The only possibility left in his mind, was that this was then directed specifically at the heiress. Preventing White from accessing her funds was something that he could see no real value in. It was something she could rectify in a phone call.

"Maybe I could help?," said Pyrrha

Markus would have offered had he not been so deep in paranoid thought. One of the benefits of Vault-tec was that he could bankroll his, he hesitated at the use of the word, accurate though it was, friends indefinitely. He realized that Pyrrha's fame had given her similar capabilities.

"Pyrrha!" said Ruby, as ecstatic as usual.

"Aw, you don't have to…" said Yang.

"But she could!" said Blake. Evidently Blake's aloof facade was far weaker than even White's.

"Well, I think you all earned it after that battle," said Pyrrha.

Not much of note occurred during or shortly after the meal. Team MRPN seemed slightly nervous about their upcoming match, but their fears were diminished by the self assured and unperturbed demeanor of their leader. They left for the battlegrounds feeling confident in their abilities.

* * *

Markus stood with his team in the center of the arena. It was a strange sensation having thousands of eyes on him. Typically the world watched his actions in a more metaphorical sense. Though, to be honest, this was one of the lowest stakes things he had done. By simply showing up, he had fulfilled his primary goal.

Port announced over the sound of the crowds, "Team MRPN of Beacon versus Team BRNZ of Shade!"

Both teams struck a ready stance. The Courier nonchalantly rested his weight on Old Glory. It projected his confidence; even from this stance he could react faster than anyone else. Through a method unknown to Markus, the terrain was generated. While it was being selected, he analyzed his opponents.

There were three males and one female. The girl had what appeared a rifle caliber synthetic sniper rifle. Judging by the lack of a bolt, it was semi-automatic. It was refreshing to see something that looked like a conventional weapon, though he expected it to turn into something of standard ridiculousness. The other three had circular saw blades attached to gauntlets, something that looked disturbingly similar to a cattle prod, and some very short claws, respectively.

The terrain was selected. His team had a mountain to their back. Obtaining the high ground was an option. It would permanently put them at an advantage, especially in a convention style firefight. However, he felt that this fight was unlikely to go that far.

"Three…

Two…

One…

Begin!"

The Courier instantly had a plan to end the fight quickly, but not too quickly. It would be messy, but messy made good viewing. As they charged forward, he yelled

"Ren, take out that sniper, we'll cover you!"

"Got it," said Ren, adjusting his course in pursuit of the sniper.

Now, he, Nora, and Pyrrha would simply take out the others mano a mano. Messy, but entertaining. Markus got between Ren and the leftmost (from his perspective) of the opponents, he sent a swing towards his leg at lightning speed, forcing the boy back. Nora and Pyrrha had engaged their own opponents. He knew that he had a massive advantage going into this fight. It would have taken ridiculous levels of incompetence to lose it because, pound for pound, his team was objectively better than his opponents. Either Pyrrha or himself could probably have defeated the other team solo. In a series of one on one fights like he had planned, victory was assured.

The sniper was the only kink in his plans. Skill doesn't matter against a sniper. If they can hit you, it doesn't matter if you're a private or a general. Of course, that's why he sent Ren to take her out. Once Ren closed to melee range, he should have little trouble.

Now that he had outflanked the three member of the other team, he pressed his opponent back, and away from Ren. His angle of attack was intended to prevent any of team BRNZ from aiding the sniper or simply stopping Ren. That was of course, until a couple sniper rounds missed him by inches. He reacted purely on instinct. He grabbed his opponent in a choke hold to use as a human shield and fired a hail of 9mm rounds at the sniper. His draw was so fast most would not have seen him reach inside his jacket. The explosive Dust rounds broke the tree branch she was standing on. While she managed to get to another one before it collapsed, it didn't matter. Ren had already reached her. Team MRPN would not need to worry about the sniper anymore. So Markus pushed his human shield into Pyrrha's opponent, staggering them both.

Markus had not intended to react as he did, however innumerable experiences ensured that in certain circumstances he reacted without thinking. Such instincts were needed to survive in a combat zone. Especially when a single shot could be lethal. Aura largely negated the need for

He learned from Port and Oobleck's commentary that apparently Nora's semblance was absorbing electricity. That felt like something he should have known. A buzzer sounded, Ren had knocked out the sniper. Markus had an idea. There was a very useful coincidence that had occurred.

"Nora!" he said, getting her attention, "Catch!" In a single motion, he unsheathed and threw Jingwei's shocksword. She caught it with one hand and looked at it. The expression of confusion on her face quickly changed to a sadistic grin as she noticed the electricity arcing across the blade. She looked up at the other team with a gleam in her eye. They started backing away. Unfortunately for them, it caused them to bunch up.

Nora smashed them all with her hammer in a single swing. Nora's strength was actually ridiculous. It sent all three of them flying outside the bounds of the arena and depleted their Aura. Markus had the feeling he might need to start worrying about Semblances. It seemed everyone seemed to have a superpower straight out of one of those pre-war comic books.

"And with that," said Port, "it appears Team MRPN wins by knockout. Literally. Can someone go make sure they're okay?" Markus could tell that Team BRNZ was fine. Aura did well at dampening impacts over a large surface area. Things like falling were not too damaging to Aura in comparison to something with a smaller point of impact. The Courier was glad to be done with the match. All things considered, it had gone very well. It had ended quickly but not too quickly and there was plenty of duelist level fighting. Now, perhaps, he could turn his attention to more important issues, though he found the concept unlikely. He was stuck with his team for the immediate future.


	74. Chapter 74 - Espionage Once Removed

Chapter 72 - Espionage Once Removed

* * *

His team had resolved to get some rest after the fight. While the wearing off of his adrenaline had fatigued Markus slightly, he was nowhere near worn out by the fight. Perhaps in his early days in DC it might have done it, but now, after all he had been through, he was entirely capable of fighting for literally days straight. As well, the pressure of having the world watching that fatigued his teammates was hardly an added burden to him. He had acclimated to the pressure long before arriving on Remnant.

From the back of the shuttle from the colosseum they were in, the Courier could see a unique aircraft heading for Beacon. While modern military doctrine would assert that it was bad practice to make commanders distinctive, the Courier had little doubt that the aircraft carried someone of importance. It was somewhat surprising that they had not learned this lesson by now, what with the only major conflict in recent memory being with a terrorist organization. A single fire and forget missile could kill some very important people.

He supposed it was a result of Atlas believing, or at least trying to give off the impression, that the White Fang was defeated and that everyone was safe now that Torchwick was locked away. That was a dangerous decision. A single terror attack would now destroy all public trust in Atlas.

As the airship they were on descended, the Courier sent a message to the Think Tank to increase the priority of the aircraft they were developing. With the amount of flying things he was now dealing with on a daily basis, having a means of retaliation was something he wanted. They were now leaving their vehicle and entering the crowd. He continued his train of thought.

The EMP he had was hidden in the wilderness between kingdoms. The method he had designed for its covert hiding was fairly ingenious even by his standards. He had packed it in an unassuming container and sent it on a flight from one kingdom to another. He rigged the doors of the airship to "malfunction" and drop the package. The Lone Courier then removed all records of a container from shipping manifests. The silo would sit in its container, in the middle of Grimm infested territory until it was activated. The Grimm would not attack it, it was an inanimate object.

However, the EMP was, practically speaking, a weapon of mass destruction. He knew that even its targeted use would result in the deaths of thousands of people, with potentially an equal amount of non-combatants. It really was a weapon of last resort. He currently lacked the means to support Atlas in the air or otherwise defeat airborne Grimm. In order for his advances to matter, he needed to have all aspects of a combined arms force.

Then, the entire team noticed something very strange. There appeared to be a fight going on in the middle of the courtyard. And it wasn't between students.

Even more strangely, he seemed to recognize one of the belligerents. Unless his eyes were failing him, Winter Snow was currently being toyed with by some guy in grey. He had had some contact with Winter although to her knowledge she had not had any direct contact with him. She was quite often a representative of Atlas in various official communications however the Courier never used his own name. Technically speaking, Markus Friedrich had no official involvement in Vault-tec. However, he was its most public face meaning an annoying amount of people knew who he was. Whether that was a small price to pay for introducing a miracle cure, he had yet to find out.

The other combatant was of far greater interest to Markus. Winter was supposed part of one of Atlas' "specialists". However, she was almost always on the defensive. Even her most powerful strikes hardly seemed to faze the man. The entire fight was very much a duel. Neither seemed to be using techniques that one would expect if attempting a quick victory. Of course, this could just be the only way that people from Remnant fought, though he sincerely hoped that that was not the case. It could make any contact with Earth _very_ deadly.

Then, the man put his sword away. Winter charged him anyway. Her actions seemed highly unprofessional to the Courier. Unless this man was so high a threat that he needed to be killed immediately, she seemed to really be letting her emotions get the better of her.

" _ **SCHNEE!**_ "

Winter stopped with her blade just inches from the man's throat. Markus recognized that voice and was therefore unsurprised when he saw its source. General Ironwood was standing behind Winter. Strangely, Penny was with him. To those who didn't know what he did, it must have seemed strange that Ironwood would have someone like Penny in his entourage.

"General Ironwood, sir!" said Winter, trying to appear professional.

"What in the world do you think you're doing?"

The Courier had wondered the same thing.

"He started the altercation, sir!"

Great, Atlas specialists apparently had the maturity of an eight year old with a thesaurus.

"That's actually not true," interjected the man with clearly slurred speech, " _She_ attacked first."

The Courier had spent enough time intoxicated that he recognized that that man was _very_ drunk. He wondered if Aura granted supernatural alcohol tolerance or something. Depth perception typically takes a hit when drunk.

"Is that right?" said Ironwood, apparently it was as she said nothing. "And _you_." Ironwood said to the man, "What are you doing _here_?"

"I could be asking you the same thing," said the man.

"I-" that was as far as Ironwood got before he was interrupted by Ozpin.

"Now, now, everyone. There is a sanctioned fight happening just around the corner at the Colosseum, that I could assure you has better seats.. and popcorn."

"Break it up, everyone!," said Goodwitch, "We will take care of this mess."

"Let's go," said Ironwood. He, his entourage, and Winter walked back towards Beacon.

Team MRPN did the same. The Courier had a plan. Digital information gathering had failed. He had only one option left to him now. If he couldn't spy on the enemy, he could always spy on the spies.

* * *

 **AN:** Sorry about the short chapter. This is a slow bit in the plot which means the writing is far slower as well. Hopefully things should pick up soon.


	75. Chapter 75 - A Spy on the Wall

Chapter 73 - A Spy on the Wall

* * *

If any of the members of team MRPN were to awaken, there was very good chance of them noticing that their leader was missing. While this would not be a unique occurrence, unlike usual, he was not on the roof. In fact, even a full scale manhunt would be unable to locate him. While there were individuals who _could_ have found him, none of them were on Remnant.

Markus had taken advantage of his position at Beacon and its newfound proximity to figures of importance in a last-ditch attempt to get some information that he knew Atlas possessed. The presence of what amounted to a covert operative and a General meant that this was a prime opportunity. The Lone Courier was certain that with enough information, he would be capable of averting or at least mitigate the damage of the coming crisis.

In his addition to his objectively impressive skill set, his experience in war, and the aid of the Think Tank convinced him that he was uniquely capable of preparing for war. Of course, he had had very limited success so far. All of his preparations had been mere fumblings in the dark. Without concrete intelligence on the plans of the enemy, he was unable to do more than develop things for a counterstrike.

He had known that Atlas knew more than he could find digitally because of what Penny had said about an impending war. The presence of Winter had given him an unprecedented opportunity to finally get in "the know".

And it was thus that he found himself holding his breath in an elevator. There were four occupants of the elevator, including himself. While this kind of thing would ordinarily carry a significant risk of detection, even had he not been invisible, a very specific member of the trio he was accompanying was keeping the attentions of the other two occupied.

His enhanced lungs served him well in this instance. Even at the rapid rate they were rising, and ordinary human would have been at severe risk of losing consciousness trying to hold their breath all the way to Ozpin's office.

As the elevator arrived and its occupants walked out, the Courier took note of the scene in Ozpin's office. The General stood in front of Ozpin's desk while Winter paced furiously in front of him. This type of behavior earned Winter little respect in Markus' book. He expected better composure from people meant for special operations.

"What were you thinking!?" Winter yelled at Qrow.

"If you were one of my men, I would have you shot!" said Ironwood. Either Ironwood was using hyperbole or Atlas used a justice system that Soviet commissars would find expedient.

"If I was one of your men," said Qrow, pulling out a flask, "I'd shoot myself."

Well, at least _he_ was witty.

"While I wouldn't _condone_ his behavior," said Goodwitch, "retaliating like you did certainly didn't help the situation."

The Courier found that Goodwitch had essentially voiced his thoughts. He wondered if it should trouble him how much he agreed with her. It seemed more often than not.

"He was drunk!" protested Winter.

"He's always drunk!" said Goodwitch. The four looked at Qrow who was now drinking from his flask. He put it away hastily when he noticed the stares.

The behavior brought uncomfortable flashbacks to Markus. Feelings and memories that he suppressed ruthlessly, as was his standard operating procedure.

Ozpin sighed and sat down. "Qrow, why are you here?"

"You've been out of contact for weeks! You can't just go dark like that in the field!" said Ironwood.

Markus would not have pegged Qrow as a covert operative. Although, he supposed that was the point. He remembered that pre-war members of black operations groups were told to have non-military style haircuts for the purpose of misdirection.

"I'm not one of your special operatives, _Jimmy!"_

Problem with authority, or Ironwood, not working for Atlas, the Courier noted.

" _General"_ corrected Winter.

"Whatever. You sent me to get intel on our enemy, and I'm telling _you_ , our enemy is here."

Well that made this venture worth it. "The enemy" was here, and had, like him, infiltrated this place.

"We know." said Ironwood.

"Oh! Oh, you know! Well, thank goodness I'm out there risking my life to keep you all informed!"

"Qrow-" said Ironwood.

"Communication's a two-way street, pal. You see this?" he pulled out his scroll and pointed at it, "That's the _SEND_ button."

"They had reason to assume you'd been compromised," said Winter.

"And I have reason to assume you don't need to be here," he pointed at Winter, "Seriously, who invited her?"

After a moment of silence Ironwood said, "Schnee, we'll discuss this incident back at my ship."

"But sir!"

"Winter. _Leave._ "

She saluted Ironwood, "Yes sir." She turned on her heel and left.

Evidently Qrow significantly outranked Winter in terms of clearance.

"Go on." said Ironwood.

"Your infiltrator isn't just another pawn. They're the one responsible for Autumn's condition."

Autumn. _Autumn._ The Lone Wanderer did not like that name. There was no way that they were related. Absolutely none. Markus cleared the intrusive thoughts from his head. The infiltrator was of primary importance. That they were "responsible for Autumn's condition" indicated a failed assassination attempted. The identity of Autumn was information that the Courier was keenly interested in. Of course, Autumn could be a designation rather than an actual name. In fact, it was entirely plausible that Autumn was not a person. However, Qrow did not seem to be the kind to use code words and designations, especially in this company.

"What?" said Goodwitch. Qrow then went on a very strange monologue.

"Despite what the world thinks, we're not just teachers, or generals, or headmasters. The people in this room, the leaders of the other two academies, we're the ones that keep the world safe from the evils no one even knows about!" The Lone Courier thought that sounded like an apt description of _his_ job. Except, his efforts typically ended with a lot of dead people. These people seemed a lot better at their jobs. _Or_ they simply didn't have to deal with the post-apocalypse on a daily basis. Qrow was now getting in Ironwood's face.

"It's why we meet behind closed doors, why we work in the shadows. So you tell me, James, when you brought your army to Vale, did you think you were being discreet, or did you just not give a damn!?"

Ironwood placed his scroll on Ozpin's desk. "Discreet wasn't working." A hologram of Vale, Beacon, the Colosseum, and the fleet protecting it appeared. "I'm here because this is what was necessary."

While the Courier knew that a heavy military presence, in the form of these airships, was incapable of preventing a determined terrorist attack, he failed to see what harm they could do. At the very least, they would allow a quick reaction should preventative measures fail.

"You're here because Ozpin wanted you here! He made you part of this inner circle and opened your eyes to the _real_ fight that's in front of us!"

The Courier still felt he was missing something.

"And I am grateful." said Ironwood.

"Oh, well, you've got a real funny way of showing it."

How did Ozpin, a headmaster of a school, know things that a General did not?

"The people of Vale needed someone to protect them; someone who would act. When they look to the sky and see my fleet, they feel safe, and our enemies will feel our strength."

The Courier thought that Ironwood severely overestimated the moral effect of a display of martial might on fanatics. As well, should a terrorist attack occur, Atlas would be blamed for failing to prevent it. Qrow started laughing.

"You... You think they're scared of your little _ships_? I've been out there and I've seen the things she's made, and let me tell you - they _are_ fear."

Markus had a curious mix of emotions which he promptly ignored. He had a gender, that was concrete. "She" has made something. His adversary was female. Apparently she had made something which Qrow, someone who was far superior in skill to Atlas' special operatives, considers fear incarnate. Things were getting worse. Ozpin stood up.

"And fear will bring the Grimm. A _guardian_ is a symbol of comfort. But an _army_ is a symbol of conflict. There's an energy in the air now, a question in the back of everyone's minds. If this is the size of our defenses, then what is it we're expecting to fight?"

The Courier saw a simple solution, spread propaganda that the Atlas fleet is there as a precaution due to a surge in Grimm activity or some other such reason.

Ironwood picked up his scroll. For an instant, it flashed the chess piece the Black Queen. The Courier's mind went into overdrive. He recognized the symbol. The night of the dance. In the CCTS tower. Ironwood's system was compromised. That woman had something to do with it. While it was possible the masked woman was the "she" Qrow had referred to, he found it unlikely. Someone of such importance would never get personally involved. The Courier realized that it would mean that the entirety of Beacon was compromised.

Worse still, he didn't know if he could _do_ anything about it. The presence in the CCTS meant the access point was physical. As well, there were infiltrators. Should he remove the device, assuming he could find it, it could be replaced within hours, accomplishing nothing save revealing his presence.

Now, he knew that the Woman was a target of his. However, she was no good to him dead. She needed to be taken alive and the information extracted from her. By any means necessary.

"So then," asked Ironwood, "what would you suggest we do?"

"I suggest we find our guardian."

That was the end of the meeting. The Courier left promptly. The entire way back to his dorm room he attempted to puzzle out what Ozpin meant by "guardian". Markus was certain that it did not mean simply the dictionary definition. By Earth standards, an army was far more comforting than any individual could hope to be, that is, without martial connections. In the end, he gave up for now. He would have bugged Ozpin's office however he did not have any bugs and with the entirety of Beacon compromised, he was unwilling to risk it.

Triple checking the security of his Pip-boy, he made plans for what he was going to do. This was a covert war and a counter terrorist operation that would precede a much more conventional war against "fear incarnated." He was not confident in the readiness of himself nor that of his teammates. For the first time, he viewed his team as a potential aid rather than simply as civilian that needed to be protected. For this kind of operation, both they, and to a lesser extent him, needed specialized training.

There was only one solution to that. He sent orders for a "Killing House", similar to that used by the SAS to be built in Vale. It might raise questions, however he could buy at least temporary silence. With the increased likelihood of a terrorist attack the likelihood of CQC increased.

The situation regarding the conventional war seemed to be deteriorating. If Atlas' fleet did not faze the enemy, in the event of imminent war, nothing he currently had would do either. The only asset he might have, were on Earth. However, to him, this option was even more loathsome than the EMP. However, the fact that the enemy seemed to be coming from outside the kingdoms made this far more viable. There would be far less collateral damage. Only, this would be far more difficult to set up. It would require lots of time and transportalponders.

But, desperate times called for _very_ desperate measures. For, while his adversary might have fear incarnate, he had worse. Far worse. He didn't want to set the world on fire, but, he knew where America was sleeping. If things got bad enough, he would awaken it and all of Remnant would find a new definition of fear.

* * *

 **AN:** I am so not sorry about that pun.


	76. Chapter 76 - Bellator Ad Machina

Chapter 74 - Bellator Ad Machina

* * *

As Markus sat in Amity Colosseum with his team, he chose to ignore the fight in front of him and instead consider what he had learned from the previous night. The fight was between Coco and Yatsuhashi against Emerald and Mercury, some Mistral kids. He was not terribly interested as Mercury was the only one of even remote interest after his strange match with Pyrrha. However, his previous behavior could be explained by attempting to gain an advantage should he face Pyrrha in the tournament. Overall, he had far greater worries. The Courier felt like he had little to gain from analyzing the combatants. The fact that the enemy had hacked Beacon's CCTS was his primary concern.

The fact that Atlas was compromised was a bigger issue than the Courier had initially realized. Atlas was now useless to him. Well, their military force was still intact, however he could no longer rely on them in his plans. And that was a problem that he could not fix.

You see, Vault-tec provided him all the resources except for one, one that he had relied on Atlas for: manpower. All the tanks, planes, and artillery in the world were no use if there was no one to use them. And while it would have taken a while for Atlas to implement the new technologies, introduction to the vehicles would have sped mobilization once the war commenced.

As it was, anything he sent to Atlas would be intercepted by the enemy. The enemy would then be able to develop countermeasures or even produce their own versions of anything he sent. He had no idea what manufacturing capabilities the enemy possessed. The technology he had was bleeding edge by his own standards, not exactly the kind of thing he wanted falling into the hands of the enemy.

On the bright side, he had not yet shipped the tanks to Atlas. That was actually a huge disaster averted. He still retained a potentially massive advantage. Of course, that required that he find some way to crew the vehicles. A key to the efficacy of tanks, and all military vehicles, was a crew of professionals.

It was in a stroke of brilliance (Intelligence: 10) that he found the extremely convoluted solution. He would create a shell "security contractor" under a different name and use that as a means of creating a paramilitary force. The issue was, this kind of thing would take a lot of time and had a very good chance of casting suspicion on Vault-tec. The fact was, he saw no other option. It would really put a timer on his cover, but it was necessary. He was reasonably sure the war would break out soon. The lack of White Fang activity seemed too much like a calm before the storm.

His best bet for getting information on the White Fang and their covert operations would have been to plant a spy. However, he lacked the connections to do something like that. It was too high risk of a profession for the spy to work for an anonymous employer. Besides, if the infiltration had already occurred, it was likely that the time for action was approaching. Nowhere near enough time for someone to infiltrate and climb the ranks to the point that they would know about the plan.

The match ended with a victory for Emerald and Mercury. The results surprised him slightly team CFVY had been far more effective at eliminating Grimm during the Breach. He supposed that Grimm killing and dueling were not directly related. One could be better at one than the other.

As he followed his team out of the stadium back to Beacon he reflected that these rounds were very short. The battle was only around ten minutes long.

On the way there, he had already started the process of founding a company. Unlike Vault-tec, this company did not need to seem to have a pre-existing history. Taking a leaf from Arcade's book, he named the company "Vigiles". It was an appropriate name, but no one who did not understand latin would get it. He was already compiling a database of pre-war training manuals. The chinese-spec ops one would be useful. However he was primarily interested in training tank crews. It didn't matter how many tanks he had if they were sitting disused in a warehouse.

He would need actual people to do the training. So he sent lucrative offers to various retired Atlas officers. Missing limbs or old age never stopped drill instructors on earth. With that solved for now, he merely sent orders to a third party advertising team to find recruits.

* * *

Back in their dorm, Nora asked a question that he had totally forgotten about.

"Soooo who should we send to the doubles round?"

"You and Pyrrha," answered Markus instantly.

"Why me?", asked Nora, "I mean, I get Pyrrha, she's...Pyrrha, but you're the team leader and much better at tactical stuff."

"Your semblance," he said flatly. Markus materialized Jingwei's shocksword. "One of you should take this. With that and your semblances, you should have no problems."

And Markus really didn't want to do a tournament fight. It was too much of a spectacle. His fighting style in a tournament setting was very haphazard and unpracticed. Ramming a knife into someone's jugular or snapping their neck with one hand was his typical close combat. A style he was masterful in. Proper dueling? Far less so.

Besides, every second was needed to prepare. Potentially millions of lives were in the balance here. Unless he established a defence he was certain that civilization on Remnant would fall. He placed no faith in the self proclaimed protectors of this world. The Grimm would have been a joke to pre-war America. To Remnant, it was an existential threat. Moreover, a lack of serious conflict meant that things that were obvious on Earth were non-existent on Remnant. Artillery, for example.

* * *

Pyrrha frowned to herself. Her partner was looking at his Pip-boy, seemingly totally oblivious to the world around him. She was trying to understand why he had insisted that Nora go on to the doubles round. She knew from their raid on the White Fang base that he was an exceedingly skilled individual. In fact, almost worryingly so. Even disregarding what she had witnessed during the raid when he thought she wasn't looking, the skills that he demonstrated in the training she had organized were exceptional. He had forced her to use her semblance even earlier than Mercury had.

While she had won the fight with Markus, to her it felt far too much like the fight with Mercury. _His Aura wasn't even properly activated._ On several occasions, she was forced totally on the defensive, unable to do more than defend. Honestly, right now, she could not say that she was better than he was. While Pyrrha knew she was typically a very modest person, disregarding her semblance, she objectively could not decide whether her partner was more skilled than she was.

Of course, that did not even bring into account the fact that he had literally torn apart several Paladins. While he _was_ wearing that armored suit, the technique was still impressive. Pyrrha assumed that it augmented his strength somehow.

She was also just hit with the revelation that everything that Markus had done in the past months, had been with hardly any protection from Aura. She did not know how he even survived orientation without it. Or how he handled those massive rifles. The one she had briefly used had been painfully enough for her. He used one far larger. Her partner was truly an enigma.

Despite this, he was the first person to have treated her as a human. Perhaps it was _because_ he was an enigma that he didn't know who she was. She trusted him implicitly, despite his secrets.

When the team retired for the night, Pyrrha had no way of knowing that the next day, things would get even more complicated.


	77. Chapter 77 - Aerial Impunity

**AN:** Basically, I wanted the LC to do something and realized that I had ran out of time so I retconned it. Sorry. This won't really matter, as its main purpose is patching up a plot hole that would be left had I not done this. I also realized that as a side effect of adding a chapter, all chapters after it are numbered wrong. So that's great.

* * *

Chapter 76 - Aerial Impunity

* * *

Everywhere Markus went, he was working. He hardly paid any attention when Pyrrha and Nora won a crushing victory in the doubles round. Nor did he pay attention when Yang and White won a far less crushing victory in their round.

However, in the interim, there was one thing he had noticed that was highly peculiar: Penny was participating in the tournament. That seemed highly unusual to him. Why would Atlas do this? Perhaps it could be a kind of field test, but that once again brought up the question of why Penny even existed. It was clear that she was meant for combat, and not an artificial person simply for the sake of science. So, why did Atlas make an artificial person? The only use that the Courier could see for it was infiltration. But infiltration of what? Not the White Fang clearly as it would have been a simple matter to make Penny appear to be a Faunus. So, what was Atlas playing at? Penny wasn't much of a threat to him, as he could destroy her if she got within an arm's length of him. If anything went wrong in regards to Penny, it would be a PR nightmare for Atlas.

The Courier then realized something else. Both Pyrrha and Penny were going to the singles round. Needless to say, it did not take a genius to image how that would go down. Surely Atlas would have planned for this? Researched everyone's Semblance and ensured that none would pose a threat to Penny's cover? He scoffed mentally. Competency in government? That'll be the day when he could retire. And when hell froze over.

So, he came up with a simple and easy solution. It took a matter of minutes to break into the system which the program that matched the combatants was stored. All he did was make it impossible for Penny and Pyrrha to end up matched together. It was a simple adjustment that meant that should either be selected first, the other would not be selected as their opponent. That should do it.

Presently, team MRPN were all back in there dorm as the combats had ceased for the day.

The Courier had had Vigiles "buy" the tanks already produced by Vault-tec. He could not trust Atlas with them after all. Tanks were the backbone of any modern ground force. A surprisingly high amount of people were applying to the organization. The high pay and prestige made it an attractive option.

The Courier had more recruits than were needed to crew the tanks. While three people was the bare minimum needed to crew one of the tanks, he put standing orders to assign four crew members per tank. The four could act as a corpsman and replacement as well as man the 80mm mortar. Non essential, but capable of drastically improving the vehicle's combat efficiency.

He sent orders to manufacture MG3s and MG14Zs and ordered them to be shipped to Vigiles Security for use in training ASAP. Competency with crew served weapons would be needed to combat a threat like the Grimm. The reason he used those variants of machine guns rather than simply manufacturing gatling guns was that gatling guns were reliant on electricity and even less portable. In the event that an EMP occurred, he did not want his troops unarmed.

Any who were not assigned to a tank were split between machine gunners and artillerymen. It was a simple matter to direct some shipments of 25 pounders to the company. It would still take an unknown amount of time for the training to even start, but it should be fairly soon. He had made sure expediency was made known as a priority.

Markus knew that he would need to develop or at least produce from existing models various other types of weapons such as assault rifles, sniper rifles, DMRs, battle rifles, carbines, shotguns, and sidearms. For a moment he felt that he was striving with a herculean task. However that was quickly dispelled with the resolution that he could manufacture pre-war weapons with relatively little modification, or even simply purchase weapons made on Remnant, as a stopgap solution. He was not creating an elite force. The best of the best were huntsmen or in this very building. What he _was_ creating, was a force of highly trained professional soldiers.

A whole variety of tank and artillery rounds had been produced and were stockpiled in strategic locations. He made a mental note to see if he could find the schematics for some pre-war MANPADS. He felt he would get immense satisfaction from seeing a Nevermore hit by a Stinger. In lieu of SAM batteries, he felt it was his best defense against aerial attacks. The only downside, was that if the White Fang go their hands on some of these missiles, they could have a deadly effect of smaller transport vehicles. Airships did not have the speed to avoid them and likely lacked the countermeasures needed to stop them.

For Remnant, modern mercenaries in the form of a private security company was a novel concept. The long period of peace had driven the demand for combat troops down. When Remnant thought of a security company, it thought of security guards. He had given orders to the marketing company he had contracted that ensured no one would have any illusions for what they were signing up for. The legal firm he typically used for things had drawn up the series of contracts of employment with NDA clauses and other legal necessities.

The corporation was to be based in a compound in close outskirts of Vale. He chose an abandoned site that would require only quick retrofits to create a proper and imposing facility. Speed was needed and money was of no object. He didn't know when war would come, but he did not want to be caught unprepared. Markus had ensured that the place would be a virtual fortress for multiple reasons. The entire place was biometrically locked down with the best pre-war security he could find. Hopefully the unfamiliar structure should deter any hackers. He was taking as few chances as he possibly could. Maybe he was paranoid. However, Beacon was compromised, and he doubted Vigiles would stay unnoticed for long.

As the daylight began to fade, the Courier was contemplating what he should have the Think Tank prioritize, he realized that he needed a means of training pilots. He needed flight simulators, and he needed them faster than he could get them. Flying a supersonic vehicle was something that required far more specialized training than crewing a tank. Hopefully the Think Tank could simply send the schematics for some of those pre-war simulators. They shouldn't need much modification to work. They could even be fusion powered. He had no intention of letting them leave his control.

The planes themselves- a message from the Think Tank had arrived containing, (Luck: 9) the schematics for said planes. The first thing he noticed, was the ridiculously long list of materials needed to assemble one. Just from its length, he knew that they would be ungodly expensive and time consuming to make. He soon saw why. The Think Tank had resurrected the schematics of F-35 and finally completed it. The project had been abandoned in the 2030's after several trillions of dollars had created a few unreliable prototypes. Closer examination revealed that the Think Tank had almost entirely ignored his design brief in favor of completing a project of this prestige and magnitude.

Firstly, it had VTOL capabilities, a plus, but ultimately not necessary. Launching from aircraft carriers was not a common occurrence on Remnant. Secondly, it was a stealth vehicle. Totally undetectable by radar. Yet, it was still capable of going at Mach 1.2. Thirdly, it was fusion powered. However, based on the fact that he would not really be able to mass produce these, that would likely not be an issue.

Its standard armaments were impressive. Its primary armament was the GAU-22/A, a 25mm four barrel gatling gun. In addition, there was a mounted laser that was capable of burning missiles and other aircraft out of the sky. He would need to vet the pilots personally.

As well, there were its various bombs and missiles in could carry, which the Think Tank sent him a plethora of. Included, were hypersonic missiles.

While these F-35's were exceedingly difficult to make and even more expensive, they were supremely deadly. As far as he knew, there was nothing on Remnant capable of even touching one. If he got these in the air, he would rule the skies. Overall, while he had much to do, the future was looking far less bleak.

Meanwhile, Pyrrha had gotten a message on her Scroll from Ozpin. "I would like to speak to you as soon as possible. Tell no one."

The message confused and worried her.

"Um, I need to go do...something," her voice trailed off as she started to leave. Her team stared at her. She almost flinched at Markus'. As she walked to the elevator to Ozpin's office, she wondered what he could possibly want. Was it about the tournament? Her Semblance maybe? Pyrrha had no idea what she was getting into.


	78. Chapter 78 - Mortem Pacis

**AN:** Basically, a restatement of my chapter length policy seems to be required based on the amount of questions I get. The rule is, a minimum of 1000 words per chapter. In practice, the average is more like 1500 per chapter. Generally I end each chapter on a scene change or the end of an episode.

* * *

Chapter 76 - Mortem Pacis

* * *

Markus knew something was up with Pyrrha. Even a child would have been able to surmise as much. She had left seemingly without any reason. All of his instincts that he had relied on for so long to accomplish all he had in the wastes were urging him to trail her. However, there were two issues that prevented him from doing so. And one was far more talkative than the other.

For once, it didn't matter that he could become invisible. There was no way that his absence would not be noticed. Functionally speaking, he was stuck in this room until at the very least, both Nora and Ren fell asleep. And it was highly likely that they would wait until Pyrrha came back.

This was highly frustrating. The Courier had literally no idea what Pyrrha might be doing. He hoped that it was simply something personal and innocent she was hiding. He knew that **any** information that he could use would save lives; he knew this without a doubt. Therefore, he considered the acquisition of this information his moral duty.

Now, he was stuck in this dorm, trying to prepare for everything. If one were to ask anyone who knows about this kind of thing, they would tell you that the very notion of trying to prepare for everything was a futile endeavor. Markus knew this, but in his desperation did so anyway. It was a vain hope that at least one of the things he had done would help.

As he could not acquire information, he returned to his preparations with feverish intensity. Over the course of the next hour, he sent the order to manufacture night vision goggles and have them shipped to Vigiles. The White Fang, being Faunus, had near perfect night vision. He intended to even the playing field as much as possible. He spent the rest of the time fleshing out various aspects of the company, such as creating false identities of various obscure figures of importance but had no direct interactions with the company. He quickly made something of a logo by taking Ulysses' symbol and putting it on a rich black background with the name of the company underneath. Both the name and the company were in white. It was minimalist mainly for efficiency purposes. The Lone Courier was not an artist by any means.

After the hour had passed, it was getting late, and both Ren and Nora appeared to have given up trying to see when Pyrrha came back. As they turned the lights off and settled down in bed, the Courier did the same, but he had little intention of sleeping. He listened carefully to the breathing of his teammates, waiting for the regular rhythm that indicated sleep. It was agonizing. It was rare that he had to demonstrate such patiencience for something potentially so strategically important. It was well within his skillset to stay still for painfully long periods of time.

Nora and Ren's breathing patterns had finally become rhythmic. He waited a couple minutes to ensure that they were both fully asleep. Just as he was about to switch into the stealth suit, the door opened. He was too late. Pyrrha had returned before he could leave. It took a few moments for his vision to readjust, after the brighter light of the hallway ruined his night vision. He saw Pyrrha sitting on her bed, staring at the wall. While he could not draw any conclusions from this, it was enough to worry him. Before she left, she had seemed relatively carefree. Now... well, there wasn't anything he could do now. With Pyrrha having gone to sleep as well, he no longer had any reason to stay awake. Besides fear of his dreams, that was.

* * *

 _As the last vestiges of natural light faded from the sky, the unnatural light of flames was the sole source of illumination in the rubble strewn street. All through the city streets fared no better than this one. The fires were not an inferno, nor a single enormous firestorm. No, they were isolated, small but numerous affairs, not long for living. It was down one of these streets the Courier walked, holding his ACR in a low ready position._

 _He was wearing his elite riot armor, its red lenses reflecting the flickering of dozens of fires. He walked slowly and deliberated, seemingly oblivious of the carnage the people around him were desperately fleeing. Their screams seemed muted and remote to him. In fact, all sound did. This was destruction on a scale he, personally, had not seen, and likely last occurred in Earth's Great War, when billions burned._

 _The destruction of a what amounted to a pre-war city was mesmerizing in its horror. The once majestic buildings were humbled, their crowns in ruins. There was the occasional bloodied figure, almost indistinguishable from the rubble that covered them. The civilians, even in their terror, gave him a wide berth. He could see the fear in their eyes, see it in their screaming mouths. He continued to walk forward. The crowd thinned as the distance from the city center increased. The bodies increased. Grimm sublimated upon their death so there was never any indication of how many had fallen in the desperate defense of the city. No piles of bodies as testaments to the valor of the defenders. Only the soldiers and civilians were among the dead. A White Fang soldier attempted to flee from an Ursa, far ahead of him. The attempt was in vain as the beast mauled him, quickly overcoming his Aura and removing his organs from his chest cavity. Without stopping the Lone Courier fired into the head of the beast before putting a double tap into the head of the Faunus._

 _In the skies above, far in the distance, he saw the long recoil of the Atlesian airships firing, the world too muted and the guns too far away for him to hear them. Flocks of giant Nevermores could be seen in the sky. The creatures were perched on the dilapidated ruins of buildings, like vultures, ready to tear apart the dying carcass of a kingdom._

 _In the distance, the shattered moon rose behind Beacon. A flock of Nevermores momentarily obscured the sight. He watched as the green lights of Beacon slowly winked out, one by one even as the city's flames did the same._

 _"But a kingdom that has once been destroyed can never come again into being; nor can the dead ever be brought back to life." - Sun Tzu_


	79. Chapter 79 - Any Means Necessary

**AN:** Seriously people, I've said this once, and I'll say it again, the reason nothing is happening in the story is because nothing happened in canon. While this _is_ a fanfiction and I can change whatever I want, Markus (nor anyone else) has any motivation to instigate well, anything. We're stuck in the metaphorical doldrums of this story. The LC sending orders to Vault-tec is about as much fun to write as it is to read. I mean, you guys should know when shit will go down, purely based on the show.

* * *

Chapter 77 - Any Means Necessary

* * *

"Yang Xiao Long wins!" said Oobleck.

Markus had actually half paid attention to this match. However, he knew the result was inevitable once Mercury had turned his back on Yang without hearing the buzzer. The Lone Courier was familiar enough with Yang's semblance to know that the fact she had not yet activated it meant the fight was far from over. So naturally, it was over in Yang's favor _very_ quickly. Then, something very odd happened.

From the second Yang's shot impacted Mercury's leg, Markus knew something was wrong. There was a cracking sound upon the impact but that sound was not consistent with the many times he had heard a person's limb get shot. The whole thing had the uncanny valley effect in spades.

While he did not know the precise specifications of her weapon, he was familiar enough with it to know the size of the projectile. And without armor or an Aura, a projectile that size likely should have torn off the kid's leg. As it was, there was no bleeding. Literally none. Even if he had been shot by a .22 there should be at least _some_ blood by now. Even if the entire incident was a setup, there should at least be some _fake_ blood. As it was, there was nothing.

Mercury took what appeared to be a shotgun blast better than the average human took a hit from a golf club. That being established, literally everyone in the arena was suspect, even Yang. However, he knew that he could not trust the establishment to investigate. He knew that the government was compromised at least to some degree.

He did not know what exactly the plan was (if this _was_ a setup) but he knew for a fact that he could ruin in. Step one was exonerating Yang. His assumption was that charges would be brought against her. He could not see why she, specifically, would be targeted. The Courier could not understand why someone would want Yang to be criminalized. Of course, that was assuming that she was not in on it. While he (tentatively) considered her a friend, he did not know much about her past.

Still, this was something that seemed wildly out of character. He did not understand why she would do something so cold blooded. She had never seemed to have anything against Mercury, nor would he credit her with the ability to do something so ruthless. Markus had enough evidence of the use of her semblance to say empirically that she had no spike in aggression as a result of it. Even so, her attack was not a continuation of the fight in mindless rage. It was as cold blooded as an execution.

As Yang went on to claim that Mercury had attacked her, Markus knew for certain she was not in on the plan. He was not sure about the legal precedent of temporary insanity on Remnant, but Yang's story was not helping her case, legally speaking. In his eyes, it was clear that something strange had happened and she was not in on it.

"My leg, _**MY LEG!"**_

Yang was quickly surrounded by Atlas soldiers.

"Yang Xiao Long, stand down!"

"What!? Why!?" She seemed confused. This is something that she should know. Why would she be confused? Under the assumption that she was _not_ part of this set up, she should not be confused by the fact that she was being apprehended.

Emerald ran to her partner.

Mercury began crying hysterically. "Why'd she do that!? _**WHY'D SHE ATTACK ME!?**_ " Now, either Mercury was a little bitch, or a terrible actor. And based on what he knew of him, he was leaning towards the latter. Mercury, and by association Emerald, were now high on his list of suspects. If he could infiltrate the school, and he knew the school was compromised by the third party, it stood to reason individuals or groups with a more insidious agenda could do the same.

* * *

Back in their dorm, Nora was babbling about what had happened with incredulity and her usual energy. Pyrrha sat on her bed with a downcast gaze and overall attitude of gloom. Markus hardly noticed this as he paced back and forth aggressively, trying to think of how he would absolve Yang of any criminal culpability. He was certain that her prosecution was critical to whatever plan this was a part of. Whether she had done it intentionally or not was currently irrelevant. He did not trust the authorities to uncover the truth, much less quick enough for it be usable.

Yang's story was not helping matters. While at least she was consistent in her claims, the fact that she was claiming that he had attacked her when thousands of witnesses and the footage said otherwise made this tricky to get out of. He _could_ use the defense of temporary insanity, however he had a feeling that it would accomplish little other than ensuring that the walls of her cell were padded. He needed a solution that her actions were a result of factors outside her control. He quickly came to a simple solution: poison. It would be a matter of little difficulty for him to get someone important to consider the possibility and order toxicology tests to be performed.

He could easily fake the results or fake the test entirely. Of course, the best way to increase the credibility of this story would be to actually poison Yang with some hallucinogens. Datura root should work fine. Once suspicion of foul play arose, he could easily remove culpability from her and on to the unknown poisoner. He could even propagate the idea that the White Fang were behind it. A glance at Yang's recent history would show that they clearly had the motivation to go after her.

Nora had stopped talking and he could now hear into team RWBY's dorm. His keen hearing (Perception: 10) which was typically a pain in combat (and a reason he typically used silenced weapons) allowed him to, in this instance, gain vital information. He had been aware that Ironwood had entered their dorm but he had not been sure why. While he had initially thought it odd that someone as high up as a General would bother with this, he supposed that it had occurred at an international event under his supervision.

"...And it's my job to inform you that...you are disqualified."

Well, that was surprisingly mild. Nora had started talking again. He could scrap all his plotting. One would have thought that mauling a kid's leg in cold blood would carry some kind of criminal penalty. He had no reason to care about a disqualification. If the enemy had intended to take out Yang with this, Ironwood prevented it for him. He stopped his pacing as he heard the door to team RWBY's room open again; Nora stopped talking mid sentence.

"This is a mess…", he heard White say.

He decided that this was the correct time to open the door.

"How's Yang holding up?" he asked, as he thought was socially appropriate.

"She's doing the best she can," said Blake.

"I heard Mercury and his team rushed back to Haven to be with his family. So, until they land, no one can really question him about what happened," said Ruby.

Markus made a mental note to do some research on Mercury and his associates. He could use his connections to see if he had ever arrived in Haven. He had a feeling he never would.

"If there's anything we can do, please don't hesitate to ask," said Ren, apparently abnormally talkative.

"All right then," said Ruby, "If that's the case...Pyrrha?"

"Hm?"

"You be sure to win one for Beacon, okay?"

"It's what Yang would want," said White.

"I'll...do my best," she said with a painfully forced look of confidence.

"I'll make sure to watch tonight in case you're picked!"

The rest of the conversation was just noise to Markus as he looked at Pyrrha. He knew that this was going to be a long day.


	80. Chapter 80 - Flashpoint

Chapter 78 - Flashpoint

* * *

Once Nora and Ren began to argue like an old married couple, the Courier realized that he needed to do something. Something was wrong with Pyrrha and it was quite clear that he would have to be the one to deal with her. Make no mistake, it's not that he wasn't willing to help Pyrrha, or didn't want to, he more felt that he was not exactly the best person for this kind of thing. His strategy of dealing with emotions was to lock them away and then sit on them. Not the healthiest of methods, but since when was he ever concerned with own safety?

He knew he could likely force her to arrive at any conclusion he chose. There were very few people that he could not convince to drink the kool-aid. However, he did not _want_ to manipulate Pyrrha. He had done it to a very limited degree and solely as a form of deflection. He had done it very surgically for minimum long term damage. The fact was, he did not know what her problem was or how to get her to address it. He supposed it was fortunate that everyone here were awful actors. It made it far easier for him to acquire information and solve problems.

The suggestion to "get some fresh air" was an old one and one that was quite often used to disrupt arguments. He was primarily hoping that he could use it as an opportunity to confront/stage an intervention for Pyrrha. He seriously hoped that this was something trivial. Pre-war seventeen year old girl problems or something. _That_ he could deal with. Yet, if this was something more serious, and a material threat, it could provide him with the information he needed to make some more concrete plans.

Ren was largely occupied with Nora as they went through the fairgrounds and back towards Beacon. He exchanged customary small talk with the two, but the conversations had little meaning. The elephant in the room was Pyrrha, who was moping along at the back of the group. This was something very much out of character.

At one point, he noticed her attempt to discreetly slip away unnoticed. He pretended not to notice briefly before slipping away to follow her, allowing a distance to grow between them. He needed to see where she was going. Evidently this was going to be a one on one confrontation. Markus supposed that out of everyone else on Remnant, he _was_ probably the most qualified to help Pyrrha. And in his opinion, that was a **very** bad thing.

Markus found Pyrrha sitting on the ground outside the dining hall. The wind gusted in the twilight. She looked utterly dejected. Suddenly a familiar look appeared on her face. It was a look he had hoped he would never see on her face. Indeed, he had hoped he would never see it on Remnant, but he was not naive enough to genuinely believe it would happen.

It was the face he had seen in every raw recruit the first time someone went down. A kind of hyper focused thousand yard stare. It was a look of shock and incomprehension.

"Pyrrha." he said. She looked up, and the look disappeared, though her eyes still seemed haunted in a way they should not be.

"Markus!" she said, putting on her usual act.

He stood across from her and gave her a look. She deflated under his gaze.

"Pyrrha, I know something's wrong." She looked up at him. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Nora pull Ren in a different direction. Nora had remarkably acute social skills for someone as strange as she was. Markus bent his legs until his eyes were level with Pyrrha's.

"I want you to know, whatever it is, I will do everything in my power to help."

She was silent for a while.

"I don't know what to do," she said finally.

"In regards to what?"

"Do you believe in destiny?" she asked.

Well that was a strange question. He certainly chose to believe that humans had free will and the future was therefore not fated. Though he was well aware that there were more than one definition. He had a sneaking suspicion that Pyrrha was not currently having an existential crisis right now.

"In what sense?"

"When I think of destiny, I don't think of a predetermined fate you can't escape. But rather..some sort of final goal, something you work towards your entire life."

He figured that "ambition" would be more accurate for what she was describing but he simply nodded. This was sounding more like an existential crisis than he was comfortable with.

"Well..what would you do if something came along that you...never expected? Something that had the potential to stand between you and your destiny?"

She was doing her very best to hide the specifics from him without explicitly admitting to keeping secrets. He wouldn't let her do that.

"Like what?" he asked innocently.

"Or what if you could fulfill your destiny in an instant, but at the cost of who you were?"

Her rate of speech had picked up and she was sounding more and more emotional and was making less and less sense. The "cost of who you were" and "fulfill your destiny in an instant" sounded ominous. Almost like a deal with the devil.

"Slow down. You're not making any sense."

She stood up. He followed suit.

"None of it makes sense! This isn't how things were supposed to happen!"

"What doesn't make sense? What's happening?"

She ignored his questions. It was a start to her admitting she had secrets, which would then be the first step in revealing them.  
"I've always felt as though I was destined to become a Huntress - to protect the world.." she sighed, "and it's becoming increasingly clear to me that my feelings were right. But.." she turned to face him, "...I don't know if I can do it."

"If you believe that it is your destiny to protect the world, the only way to accomplish that is by believing you can. Nothing will ever be accomplished if we dwell on the possibilities of failure. In something as large as protecting the world, failure is not an option."

Then she started crying. Perhaps he had been too honest in his advice.

* * *

Markus was right, of course he was. With the fate of the world at stake _how_ could she choose _not_ to be the maiden. Of course, that didn't make it hurt less or the tears not flow. Pyrrha was not ready to die. She had so much to live for. So many things she wanted to do. Muffled, as though from a distance through a door, she heard her name.

"Stop," she mumbled, totally shattered by what she was facing. More talking, all she wanted was to be alone in her pain, to not have to think about this anymore, to not have to deal with the soul-crushing burden of imminent death.

"STOP!"

She opened her eyes. Pyrrha was horrified by what she had done. And then she saw the blood.


	81. Chapter 81 - Overload

**AN: If you are here because of the update, see chapter 56. There have also been slight changes made to chapter 77.**

* * *

Chapter 79 - Overload

* * *

While Pyrrha could not see clearly through her tear filled eyes, what she _did_ see, was enough to horrified and likely traumatized her. There was a deep indentation in the wall where she had thrown Markus. It was stained red. As she ran towards his crumpled form, she tried to ignore the unnatural angles that his various joints were twisted at and the various locations that crimson rapidly soaked into his normally pristine white-checkered suit.

" _This is all my fault"._ It was the only coherent thought she could form and it reverberated inside her head, each echo seemingly only making it louder. She knew it was true.

Pyrrha wasn't at all sure what she was trying to do when she reached him. Indeed, her mind was in such a state, it would be a miracle if she could form a coherent thought. Her psyche was too clouded by waves of fear and self loathing.

In a futile gesture, she tried to slow the bleeding with her hands, but merely served to stain her hands crimson. The tears had long since been started to flow freely. She saw himself inject himself with something-and then retched upon seeing a piece of metal protruding from his arm.

Then he moved, towards her, and then back. She maintained contact while sobbing. He clumsily materialized something from his Pip-boy. Blood was leaking from his arm-mounted device. She couldn't see exactly what he had materialized in his other hand only that it was emitting light. Then, something very strange happened, something that made this day, without a shadow of a doubt, the strangest in Pyrrha's life.

* * *

 _Fuck. Fuck. Fuckity fuck._ The Courier's thoughts consisted of little more than cursing for perhaps fifteen seconds. It was only when the Med-X kicked in that he began to start thinking semi-coherently. This was bad. Very very very bad. His Pip-boy was showing almost his entire body as crippled. Thankfully Pyrrha had not messed with anything too small in nature as his heart was still beating and his eye, while bleeding, was still functioning. Unfortunately, she had in many cases dislodged the metal from his bones. He could not fix this with any number of stimpacks. Accelerated healing would only compound his problems. He needed surgery, and faster than he could get it. He materialized the transportalponder, and after futilely attempting to dislodge Pyrrha, pulled the trigger.

* * *

The beams of the twilight were in an instant replaced with the pale lonely light of the stars. Somehow, both of them were on some kind of metal balcony. In front of them, a strange energy field covered the horizon. There were short, jagged mountains in the distance and a barren wasteland in between. However, what captured Pyrrha's attention, was the very unshattered waning gibbous hanging in the sky.

Before she could even form a thought, she noticed her partner was standing. The floor that they were standing on was slick with blood. He was standing lopsided, leaning heavily on the wall next to a door that would not have looked out of place in a bank vault. The mechanisms on it whirred, and Markus stumbled through. Pyrrha accompanied him, trying to help support his weight despite his pathetic attempts to wave her off.

* * *

The Courier needed to get to the auto-doc. He noticed the moon was up earlier here than on Remnant. Which was consistent with his current luck. He hardly paid attention to Pyrrha. There was nothing she could do. Hell, he doubted a professional surgeon could have done anything. He needed the auto-doc. He had to be careful not to slip in his own blood. That was a sentence that would have been inconceivable to him twenty-four hours earlier. It was quite fortunate that the Med-X had been as effective at clouding his brain as it had. Without it, it was quite likely that he would have simply bled out outside the lunch hall.

* * *

A cacophony of voices assaulted them upon their entrance. A circular holographic grid stood in the center of the spartan metal room they were in. Various cyan lights and screens blinked on the walls displaying nonsensical information. Pyrrha heard her partner mumble something she couldn't quite comprehend before the room became silent, save for the ambient hum of electricity. It was eerie in comparison to the voices. Now, it was just the two of them in this cold, metal building, with Markus bleeding out.  
Markus stopped in front of a darkly colored cylindrical shaped object about a foot taller than he was. There was an strange worn-out symbol on its front. He then turned to face her. His face was incredibly pale. One of his eyes was filled with blood. He pushed something on the object and a door on its front opened. He materialized something in his bloodsoaked right hand.

"I'll be fine," he said weakly.

Pyrrha couldn't find words to respond. She wanted to believe what he said, but didn't-couldn't entirely. Not the least because it did not sound like _he_ believed what he said.

But she was never given the opportunity to respond. With his right hand, he shoved her and stepped backwards into the cylinder. The door closed.

* * *

And suddenly, just as quickly as she had left, Pyrrha was back at Beacon. She would have questioned if the whole thing had been some kind of stress induced hallucination had her hands not been covered in blood. It was a grimly poetic symbol of what she had done.

There she was, standing outside the lunch hall of the prestigious Beacon academy, with the sun setting at her back, the dying leaves of Autumn taunting her as the blood of her very best friend dripped and dried from her hands onto the concrete below.

Pyrrha had no idea what she was doing. She could not comprehend it. Too many emotions. Too much information, none of it making any sense. Too much pressure. What was going on? Why her? She sank to her knees, and rocked back to sit on her heels, her renewed tears catching the last light of the day and mingling with the small pool of blood rapidly drying on the ground as they fell from her bowed head.

* * *

 **AN:** I regret to announce that this is the end of bi-daily updates, at least on this story. This story is now about twenty four hours behind the most recent episode. Once a significant gap in time, a buffer if you will, has been established, this story will be updated. However, its updates will be based on episode releases rather than an aggressive schedule for my writing.

In light of this, I'm asking all of you to head over to the forum to provide input on the next crossover I write. I think for the next one, I would like a more developed series than RWBY. Keep in mind, season three hadn't even come out when I started writing this story. So, this is hiatus time. As closing remarks for this section of the story, I would like to say that this has turned out far better than I had ever anticipated that it would. The end product is one of much higher quality than I saw myself ever producing. I think a funny thing to think about, was that I initially intended for the LC to be the typical fifth wheel to team RWBY. It was the result of various people, and the fact that I introduced Pyrrha early one, that led to the decision to replace Jaune. For me at least, it's strange to think about how different a story this could have been. If nothing else, it shows the value of your input.


	82. Chapter 82 - Temporal Schrodinger

**AN:** In case you haven't notice and have been wondering what those updates were, I added chapters 42 and 56. You might want to give those a read.

* * *

Chapter 82 - Temporal Schrodinger

* * *

If one were to look at the words on the monitor of the auto-doc, one would come to the logical conclusion that it was either listing all the injuries it had ever treated, or was performing an autopsy on a man who had happened to fall off a skyscraper. The list of injuries, while none directly mortal, cumulated to a horrendously mutilated portrait of a man. Cardiac arrest...twice...failure in both lungs...all major limbs broken and majority of ribs cracked...lung punctured by rib...exsanguination...arrhythmia…In several instances, the patient's pulse flatlined before being restarted. Due to the artificial heart, this was nowhere near as deadly as it would have been to one with an organic heart, but it was certainly not a good sign.

This was something that would typically require a team of world class surgeons to have any remote chance of survival, much less recovery. For the auto-doc, which had removed the brain, spine, and heart of this very same patient previously, it was child's play. Not even the most brilliant of surgeons could compare in cognitive ability with the processing power of a computer. This prototype auto-doc had been heavily overdesigned for its purpose. In this case, it was barely enough. Typically, its micrometer-accuracy was superfluous, included by the Think Tank purely because-well, because they could.

In the end, it did take several hours, but the auto-doc eventually managed rebend all of the metal that coated the bones into their original, correct shapes. This was incredibly difficult as bending metal was a difficult process even under the best of circumstances, and very dangerous when inside a patient's body. It required heat and force. Two things that were not very healthy when applied to the exterior of a patient. When applied to the interior, well it was only prodigious use of the active ingredient of stimpacks that made this operation even worth attempting.

The fast rate of healing for this particular patient forced the doc to surgically break almost every bone that was out of shape in order to fix the deformation of the metal. Fortunately, this healing rate also meant equal regeneration of blood and quick clotting. While the patient was in no danger of bleeding out while in the care of the auto-doc, it meant the auto-doc did not need to wait as long between the various surgical procedures.

Once the bones were set and the and lungs fixed, it was a simple matter of injecting stims and letting the patient heal. The scars were lasered into almost imperceptible white lines that would fade within days.

And so, hours later, an awful-feeling but whole Courier stumbled out of the auto-doc and caught himself on the Sink display.

 _Fuck. Everything's fucked._ Benny's Suit had been repaired by the Sink while he was getting repaired by the Auto-doc. Which was convenient, considering he didn't really have any other clothing appropriate for his assumed role on Remnant.

The reason why everything was fucked was that Pyrrha was now knew thing she shouldn't and was quite likely traumatized. Leaning on the Sink, he thought through his next course of action.

The Courier was having an internal debate of what to do next. Most of this dilemma, centered on Pyrrha. She had seen too much, and knew too much. Although, with that phrasing, it sounded like he intended to arrange an "accident" for her. Instead, he was debating when he should tell her that he was fine and had survived. Naturally, she would have a host of questions for him whenever he did, and he did not feel he had any good answers for her.

Of course, on the other hand, Markus knew he needed to make sure that he wasn't reported dead or missing. So it would be beneficial for him to tell Pyrrha he was alive and get her sworn to secrecy. Still, this did not deal with the uncomfortable questions that would be raised. He didn't really feel like telling her that he was from a different planet that was a post-apocalyptic wasteland and everything she knew about him was a lie would go over well.

He felt slightly hoisted by his own petard in this in instance, as his cover meant that to tell the truth would destroy any trust Pyrrha had in him, and potentially alienate her forever. Not only was that something he personally did not want, but how he ensured he considered it, he could not afford to have Pyrrha turn against him. She knew far too much now.

Markus knew he had to get back to Beacon, probably better sooner than later. There, he could do damage control. In retrospect, it probably was a poor decision to send Pyrrha back to Remnant. Had he merely left her in the Sink while he was in the auto-doc, he could have dealt with this in a more controlled circumstance. While he didn't really blame himself for not making the exact ideal decision after his bones had been pulled from his body, as it was, he had not way of knowing what Pyrrha was doing on Remnant.

Therefore, with a sigh, he got out the transportalponder MK. II. He really should have the the Think Tank optimize the thing at some point. Typically, he did not spend enough time at Big Mountain for them to do it, as he couldn't really leave it with them as he did things on Remnant. The time between pulling the trigger and the actual teleportation was a good thirty seconds, which he was certain was long enough to get him killed in a pinch. Indeed, it was because of that charging time that he had ended up on Remnant in the first place. It was a miracle that he hadn't ended up somewhere in the vacuum of space from that. Now however, time was of the essence. He needed to get to Pyrrha, before she did-or said- something damaging. Markus pulled the trigger, and waited to disappear.

It had been early evening when he had left, with the sun only beginning to set. As it had been several hours, the sun would have set by now. So therefore, when the Courier emerged from the transportalponder, he noticed two problems. One: the blinding daylight and two: he wasn't at Beacon.


	83. Chapter 83 - The Most Precious Commodity

Chapter 83 - The Most Precious Commodity

* * *

Now, things could have been worse. In fact, all things considered, things weren't that bad. As far as he could tell, he was in Vale, not that far from his intended destination. Quite fortunately, there was no one behind him. In fact, the street was quite peculiarly nearly empty. There were a few scattered people further in front of him but by and large, the street was abandoned. This was odd as he was familiar enough with Vale to know that the streets should be packed at this time of day.

While he knew that he had ended up pretty close to his intended destination, the position of the sun told him that he had somehow traveled through time. Or, more likely, the transit had taken more time than he had perceived. Of course, the question was exactly how much time had passed? From what he could tell it had to have been a minimum of sixteen hours since he had left Remnant initially. This being the minimum, it could even be years after he left. However, perhaps he was being pessimistic, Vale seemed to be in impeccable condition. He would have thought it would have been substantially more destroyed in a few years following its current trajectory.

As he walked forward nonchalantly, he surreptitiously glanced at the watches of those he passed. (Perception: 10) It was thus, to his great relief, that he managed to determine that it was in fact the best case scenario. He was garnering more attention than he wanted. Not however, by his sneaking glances at people's wrists as he passed them. While the release of his "medical miracle" had gathered a lot of attention, most of the recognition had been focused on the company and his "father". Someone might recognize his last name, but there was no way in which someone could recognize him. Of course, that was _before_ he participated in an internationally televised (did they call it television?) tournament. Still, his luck seemed to be holding out. Everything seemed to be going as well it could have since his arrival.

His good luck did not discount how very concerning the fact that the transportalponder was not working properly. While ending up slightly off course was not ideal, the time difference was of far greater concern. He did not want to somehow end up creating a time paradox or something. He would need to crack open the transportalponder and see what was wrong. For the time being, he was unwilling to use the device. He did not want to end up inside a solid object or something. That still left one question: where was everyone?

He passed a bar (or similar type of establishment) that was packed. The occupants were all surrounding what he assumed to be a screen, as he could not see it. When he managed to glimpse the contents of the screen, his heart dropped and the adrenaline started to flow.

Time seemed to stand still as he considered what he had just seen. Pyrrha and Penny were about to fight. This explained why the streets were nearly deserted. Of course, this was totally irrelevant at this point. The fact that Pyrrha and Penny were about to fight meant several things. Firstly, the enemy had made their move. It had begun. Someone deliberately rigged this match. He had made sure that this would not happen through chance. That led to the question of why? Why would someone do this? This match had very good odds of Penny ending up dead. Of course, that necessitated knowledge of the fact that Penny was a robot. So that meant that this was the same faction that had compromised Beacon's security.

So why are they trying to kill Penny? And why in such a convoluted way? With this kind of influence, a car bomb would have been easier and more effective. It was really a toss up whether Pyrrha ended up doing anything that would result in significant damage to Penny. But still, why did they (whomever _they_ were) want Pyrrha to kill Penny? Well naturally, it would be a spectacle and a fairly impactful act of terror. So was he dealing with a terrorist group? It would not really surprise him if this was orchestrated by the White Fang. The real question was why humans were involved.

Torchwick was fairly easily to explain: sociopathic war profiteer. Not too difficult. What was highly concerning was that there were others. He knew team RWBY had encountered them. He himself had seen the masked woman. And as far as he could tell, there were all highly skilled, and one of them was a good enough hacker to create a device that would bypass all of Beacon and Atlas security.

This was no motley crew of desperate men. These people were good at what they did. So why align with a terrorist group? How did this benefit them? He realized he didn't have time for these questions. The motivations of his enemies were not of immediate use to him. What he needed to determine, was their current objective. _Yes_ , they were trying to kill Penny, but _why?_ A news ticker that was at the bottom of the screen caused him to remember something: there was heightened Grimm activity.

Things were starting to fall into place. The Grimm were attracted to negative emotions. He postulated that this spike in activity was directly correlated to the Yang incident. This brought up the fact that what she believed happened was different from reality. While he refrained from drawing conclusions, he strongly suspected foul play by _them_. The death of Penny on live TV would have the same effect only exponentially greater. Why they wanted the Grimm to attack, he had no real idea. Perhaps they wanted to weaken Vale and Atlas, or perhaps use it as a diversion. It didn't matter. They would need to be stopped. At all costs.

And then, time resumed and the Courier set off at a dead sprint towards the nearest transport to the floating Colosseum. He despaired further with every second that passed. He knew first hand that these fights did not last long. Perhaps they might last longer in these finals rounds, but he knew he could not count on anything.

He would have called or sent a message to Ruby while the airship flew to the colosseum, but at this point, he did not think she could do anything. In fact, he was not entirely sure what _he_ would do. At this point, there was in fact very little he could do to halt the fight that would not create just as big of a panic as the match was orchestrated to. That would not stop him from doing to save Penny of course but, if at all possible, he would seek to avoid fulfilling the plans of his enemies. So far, his basic plan was to use his stealth suit and create a disturbance great enough to get the match canceled. Perhaps a grenade might do it.

But from the second he left the airship, he knew that it was in vain.


	84. Chapter 84 - Worse Than Senseless Things

Chapter 84 - Worse Than Senseless Things

* * *

It was a sad fact that the Lone Courier was no stranger to the sight of people he knew just as well as Penny being brutally dismembered. Yet, no matter how many times he had witnessed it, and no matter how much he wanted to, he could never manage to look away. It was not horror he felt, as he presumed those around him felt, only a profound sense of despair and failure. In moments such as this, he felt some of his abilities to be more of a curse than a blessing; the adrenaline that forced him to witness this in near slow motion and his near perfect memory made it certain she would appear in his dreams. Her name would join that long list of people he had failed to save.

Yet, Markus also knew that he had no time to mourn Penny's death. He needed to...What exactly did he need to do? He knew that the enemy had started whatever they were planning, but he did not know where the blow would fall. Things were occurring that were totally out of his hands. Now that he had failed to prevent the death of Penny, he did not know what was going to happen.

As he stared, transfixed, at the remains of Penny, movement in his field of view caught his attention. _Pyrrha._ Right. He supposed that that was a good place to start. And by good, he meant bad. He really did not want to try to deal with the Pyrrha crisis right now. The poor girl was quite likely traumatized even further. He did not want to even guess at her mental state. But, he did not really have the time to play shrink with Pyrrha when the terrorists were acting and the Grimm were moving. However, while he knew things were happening, that was about all he knew. He was once again stuck reacting and Penny was lying in pieces dead on the floor.

This was in fact one of the worst situations he had ever been in. He was fighting an invisible enemy. He did not know their objectives, locations, or names. But of course, it got worse. A black queen appeared on all monitors surrounding the arena. Eyes now fixed on the screens, the Courier pushed his way towards the arena itself. An oddly familiar, but unrecognizable female voice began to speak.

"This is **not** a tragedy. This is **not** an accident. This is what happens when you hand over your trust, your safety, your _children,_ to men who claim to be guardians, but are, in reality, nothing more than _men_. Academies' Headmasters wield more power than most armies, and one was audacious enough to control both."

 _Ironwood_. She was targeting Atlas. He wasn't sure the point of this speech. If it was to turn the people against the governments after a terrorist attack, well he did not think she had great odds. Her rhetoric was poor and uninspiring. She sounded quite megalomaniac terrorist as well. Claiming that this was a terrorist attack and creating unity from this should not be difficult for any half-decent propaganda machine. They would claim this was a field test for Penny that was sabotaged by terrorists. They would make sure to have Ozpin and the event organizers say they approved it and the damage would be mitigated. There might be some grumbles about compromising the integrity of the tournament, but if this was meant to start some kind of anarchist revolution, well this was a poorly thought out plan at best. But she wasn't done.

"They cling to this power in the name of peace, and yet, what do we have here? One nation's attempt at a synthetic army, mercilessly torn apart by another's star pupil. What need would Atlas have for a soldier disguised as an innocent little girl? I don't think the Grimm can tell the difference."

Atlas could come up with any reason they wanted for creating one. The White Fang was a viable excuse. They could even fake studies saying that Grimm _can_ tell the difference and simply don't detect Penny, or something to that effect. It's not like the claims could be disputed. A crackpot with a megaphone was hardly a compelling source of scientific information. So far, as callous as it sounded, Penny's death should have a negligible strategic effect.

"And what, I ask you, is Ozpin teaching his students? First a dismemberment, now this? Huntsmen and Huntresses should carry themselves with honor and mercy, yet I have witnessed neither."

So _that_ was the point of the Yang incident. Markus still wasn't sure how they had pulled this off. However his original plan for getting Yang acquitted in a court of law could be recycled to clear both Yang and Pyrrha in the court of public opinion. Determine that they were drugged with hallucinogens or a drug that increases aggression to shift the blame onto the enemy.

"Perhaps Ozpin felt as though defeating Atlas in the Tournament would help people forget his colossal failure to protect Vale when the Grimm invaded its streets. Or perhaps this was his message to the tyrannical dictator that has occupied an unsuspecting kingdom with armed forces. Honestly, I haven't the slightest clue as to who is right and who is wrong. But I know the existence of peace is fragile, and the leaders of our kingdoms conduct their business with iron gloves."

The woman was now bringing up points that had actually concerned the Courier. However the points she raised were primarily factual. Rebellion was instigated by appeals to emotion. The points the woman raised were non-sequiturs when one considered that the White Fang was responsible for all of this. She was speaking like she was running against both Ironwood and Ozpin in an election. At worst, both Ozpin and Ironwood would resign and be replaced by someone else. As far as the Lone Courier knew, there would be no real problem with this, as neither Ozpin nor Ironwood were critical. Of course, that was assuming anyone believed a word she said. He hoped that people knew not to trust an anonymous person who hijacked the airwaves to push a political agenda immediately after what seems to be an act of terror. Logically, the two would be linked, thus invalidating everything this woman said in the minds of the public as she is clearly a terrorist. The Courier felt it might be a good idea to make his own propaganda machine.

"As someone who hails from Mistral, I can assure you the situation there is... equally undesirable. Our Kingdoms are on the brink of war, yet we, the citizens, are left in the dark."

Kingdoms on the brink of war? There's been no evidence of this. This notion could be dispelled by some shows of faith and joint military exercises. Mistral though. The fact that she mentioned Mistral was strange. She had so far said nothing about her identity but now she name-dropped Mistral. It seemed like an obvious red herring. Despite this, the Courier would now be wary of the kingdom. There was clearly more to this than the White Fang striking back at humans. The complaints at being left in the dark could also be fixed with more transparency, real or fake.

"So I ask you: When the first shots are fired... who do you think you can trust?"

Then the feed cut. About time. While this had been going on, the Courier had increased the readiness level of Vigiles to the equivalent of DEFCON 2. Artillery was already aimed at Mountain Glenn. On the bright side, he had a motto for Vigiles: "Trust In Us". There was plenty of propaganda. Hopefully this attack should lead to a kind of "Blitz Spirit" that would unite the peoples of Remnant against these enemies. His decision to raise the readiness of Vigiles forces was soon vindicated. The wailing of an alarm sounded and the word "caution" flashed red on the screens.

"Alert. Incoming Grimm attack. Threat level: Nine. Please seek shelter in a calm and orderly manner."

Naturally, people ran screaming from the the stadium. The Courier knew that it would only be by an act of God that dozens of people wouldn't be trampled to death. Fortunately he was almost to the arena when this had happened.

"Ladies and gentlemen, please," Ironwood announced, "There is no need for panic."

With the constant threat of Grimm looming over these people's heads, the Courier would have thought that they would have had regular drills of how to act in this eventuality but he realized he was expecting too much of a nation that literally did not have a standing army. This period of long peace Remnant had enjoyed would prove to be more damaging than a few sporadic wars would have been.

With an amazing sense of irony, there suddenly _was_ something to panic about. A giant Nevermore landed on the top of the arena's domed force field. Apparently they had forcefields here. He wondered idly how different they were from those of Big MT. He had a direct problem to deal with. The Grimm was attacking the forcefield and would get through, sooner or later. He would deal with that, and then..and then he would deal with Pyrrha.


	85. Chapter 85 - Round: HEAT

Chapter 85 - Round: HEAT

* * *

The first thing the Courier did, was materialize Red Glare. The second thing he did, was swap the rockets for armor piercing ones. He was taking no chances with this thing. He wanted it dead and he wanted it dead faster than he could make it so. There were more of them, he knew, and in this kind of situation, time cost lives. Getting Pyrrha back in fighting shape would further this end. At least, that's how he justified it to himself. His actual motivations were more nebulous and more personal, despite his best efforts.

"Warning: Safety Barriers Failing."

It was somewhat amusing how the roles had reversed. The barrier was now protecting the Nevermore from him, or more accurately, his rockets. Pyrrha...well Pyrrha was not doing well. And when that Nevermore broke through, if it went for her...well, she would not have much of a chance unless she snapped out of her shock. But, the odds of the thing going for her before he could get a shot off were remote, and he saw no real way of dealing with it by any other means. Risks were inherent in combat, and this was a rather small one, especially when he considered that his original analysis had not factored Pyrrha's Aura into her survival. Therefore he positioned himself directly behind Pyrrha, and rested Red Glare on the railing. He swapped the standard ammunition for the armor piercing rockets.

Suddenly, the Nevermore's battering on the forcefield stopped. The Courier decided to look up just in time to see the Grimm smash through the flimsy containment measure. He tracked its descent with the scope of his weapon. Its impact created enough of a shockwave to send the kneeling Pyrrha flat on her back and more fortunately, a significant distance away from the Nevermore. The Nevermore screeched in challenge (did Grimm screech in challenge?) Either way, the Courier aimed at the creature's chest, away from its hardened carapace, and fired. Simultaneously, the Grimm lept forward.

Now, a Nevermore of this size was effectively bulletproof. Even .50 caliber rounds, unless in high quantity, would do little more than annoy it. An XM1049 round might cause a minor injury, but it would take at least a well placed magazine or two. Indeed, even a rocket might cause only superficial but painful damage. An _armor piercing_ rocket, was another story. These devices were made to penetrate the armor of main battle tanks. The mere feathers and bone had no chance against projectiles designed to destroy armor designed by the premier minds of the twenty-first century. Despite this, the Nevermore's size meant that a rocket, no matter how penetrating, would not kill it quickly. Which was why Red Glare fired four point eight a second.

The five rockets that Markus fired at the Grimm absolutely eviscerated the creature. They tore a hole in its chest large enough for him to walk through. The thing was nearly cut in half by the barrage. It promptly began to sublimate, leaving a bewildered Ruby standing in protectively in front of Pyrrha, holding one of Penny's swords.

That brought his attention to another issue: Ruby had known Penny the best. She was also highly innocent. There was no telling how she would deal with her death. Ruby seemed to be functioning for now, and she was not strictly his problem, as callous as it sounded. Ruby had her own team, and her family that could deal with this in the long term. Because of what Pyrrha had seen, she was now very much his problem.

With that in mind, he materialized Red Glare, and vaulted over the edge to land in the arena. All eyes were now on him. Except for Pyrrha. She was still kneeling her head inclined. She seemed too apathetic to really care too much about her own fate, nor that of the Nevermore.

She spoke, but could not look up at Ruby.

"Ruby, I…," the Courier winced at how broken her voice sounded, "I'm so sorry."

"Me too," said Ruby forlornly, Markus cringed slightly-that was not what she was supposed to say-however she recovered well in the following statement, "But it wasn't your fault."

Markus finally decided to speak, now that he had gotten within a few feet of Pyrrha. "There was nothing you could have done. This entire incident was planned by the enemy. It was a deliberate attempt to demoralize us."

The Lone Courier was not only comforting Pyrrha, but was also addressing the rest of huntsmen and training who had stayed behind. Getting them to assist in repelling enemy forces was of critical importance. Then Pyrrha started hugging him, sobbing into his shoulder, babbling incomprehensibly, and near hyperventilating. Needless to say, Markus was caught completely off guard.

In hindsight, a reaction such as this should not have shocked him when he considered that Pyrrha had good reason to believe she had killed him. Which would make Penny the second person she had accidentally killed. Now, he had a problem that he could not fix with technical knowledge.

He could probably help Pyrrha get over the fact that it was her hand that killed Penny, but that was in the context of acting as a de facto psychologist. Here, he, someone who had killed 1292 people, had to try to attempt to comfort someone. There were no soldiers, not even Lanius that could rival his kill count. Outside of executioners, he was quite likely the person who had directly killed the most people. Naturally, that was not a record he liked having. He had long ago determined that he would have much preferred never having to have killed anyone. Of course, that was just wishful thinking. More often than not in the wasteland, the best case scenario involved killing someone. Now, he had to reassure Pyrrha, who was on the verge of a mental breakdown.

He semi-awkwardly patted her shoulder. Her breathing was getting even more frequent and he could make out some of her words: questions, such as how and why. In what was, to him, a painfully loud whisper he said, "I'll explain everything once there are no longer Grimm trying to destroy the city," he then gripped both her shoulders and held her out, forcing her to look at him and shook her _very_ gently by his standards.

"Pyrrha, we'll have time to grieve later. Right now, every second counts. We have a job to do and we have to start **now.** In a situation like this, every second counts."

She nodded and stood with renewed resolve. Markus breathed an internal sigh of relief that that had worked. Ruby tossed Pyrrha her weapons.

Just then, something impacted the ground. The Courier fortunately managed to determine what it was before he went scrambling for cover: a rocket locker. He relaxed a hail of them impacted around him as the other students started to gear up.

Then, a flock of Grimm (griffons, if he remembered the name correctly) landed on top of the Colosseum.

"Griffons," said Ren, confirming his memory was still functional.

"Anybody got a plan of attack?" asked Neptune.

Just before the Courier suggested they try seeing if these Grimm had an allergy to lead, a pair of unlikely rescuers (he used that word _very_ loosely) made their presence known.

"Students," said Port, "I think it would be best for you to leave."

"But we did a-" protested Ruby before she was cut off.

"Miss Rose!" said Oobleck, "This day will surely go down in Remnant's history. I'd prefer it if my students could live to tell about it."

Finally, Ruby agreed that they should leave. Markus agreed that they should leave, but for an entirely different reason: there was nothing here worth defending. There was no strategic or tactical significance to this position. It was a classic rookie mistake to attempt to defend all points and never give ground.

"Let's go!" said Ruby.

They all left for the dock of the colosseum. The Courier materialized the Blackhawk before holstering it and materializing the ZM LE-300. He had the Blackhawk holstered incase he needed something with more stopping power than a 5.56.

Now, he thought as he ran, all he needed to do, was find out what the _hell_ was going on.


	86. Chapter 86 - War On Three Fronts

Chapter 86 - War On Three Fronts

* * *

A sound he had not heard in a long time caught the Courier's attention. It was the distinctive distant boom of artillery, something he had not heard since his initial arrival at Nellis air force base. The sounds, while tremendously loud, were few in number. He presumed it was Atlas, making use of the guns they had purchased for trials. That reminded him: he needed to update Vigiles orders. As he ran, he quickly sent orders.

 _Hold the compound. Provide sanctuary for civilians. Coordinate with Atlas forces until further orders._

The Courier knew that Vigiles were not in any condition to undertake any larger or more offensive action. He was also aware that he could not direct them while he was with his team. Fortunately, for now everyone was too focused on the unfolding crisis to ask any questions about his absence. That was something even _he_ could not come up with a good excuse for.

It was to the extreme good fortune of the Courier that upon entrance the airship dock of the colosseum the group ran into the best person to answer his question as to what was going on, and even more fortunately, Ruby asked said question, preventing him from having to gain any unwanted attention.

"What's going on!?" she asked.

"Grimm are crawling all over the city. The White Fang's invaded Beacon, and to make matters worse, some... _vagabond_ has seized one of my ships. Until we regain command, the skies are out of our control. So I'm…"

A slight noise tipped the Courier off that an enemy was behind him. He drew the Blackhawk as he turned "Contact!" he activated VATS. A pair of .44 magnum rounds ended the Grimm before it could react to its detection. He holstered his weapon. He noticed Ironwood was also putting his own gun away. The General continued as if nothing had happened.

"I'm going to take it back." With that, he turned and began to walk to the dropship in front of him.

Now that Markus' adrenaline was fading, he took the time to analyze what Ironwood had told them. Grimm were in the city. That was bad, but not unexpected. He _was_ however, highly disappointed in the defences of the kingdom. Evidently they had failed to hold the tide of Grimm even remotely once Penny died. Now, more importantly, the White Fang had invaded Beacon. That was important. The White Fang were the only thinking operatives that the enemy possessed. The Grimm were a blunt instrument of terror. The White Fang, while massively incompetent, were capable of being instructed to do something other than kill everything in sight. Therefore, it stood to reason that Beacon was the primary target of this attack. The enemy had decided they wanted it, and that was good enough reason for him to deny them it. He voiced his reasoning.

"Right. So the White Fang are attacking Beacon. We don't know why they're there specifically, or what they want there, but that's good enough reason for us to stop them. Let's go. We can take an airship."

Everyone nodded, he spoke convincingly and commandingly. Rather than tell them what to do, he led them to arrive at his conclusion.

"Yeah, let's do it!" said Ruby, sounding determined. The Courier noticed her voice was remarkably stable for having seen her friend killed literally minutes ago. She was holding up better than he had thought she would.

As they all piled into the airship that would take them to Beacon, the Courier thought about the last part of Ironwood's speech. _Someone had seized one of his airships._ That was not good. Their side had lost air superiority. While that was far from a deciding factor, especially in such close-quarters urban warfare as this, it could result in substantially more deaths than otherwise. However, both he, and Vigiles, lacked any proper means of dealing with a hijacking. He _might_ be able to shoot it down, but Ironwood had said he had a plan to regain control. So, for now, he would have to trust in the competency of Atlas forces. At least, until he had determined that there was no longer any means of reclaiming the airship.

Then, things went unpredictably badly. Ironwoods ship plummeted. And Ruby jumped out of the airship.

One of those, was a much bigger problem than the other. And Ruby had jumped of her own volition, so while he wasn't entirely sure what she intended to do, it was not likely to be more catastrophic than the downing of Ironwood's airship. With Ironwood's ship down, he should have been free to attempt to down the hijacked airship. Unfortunately, he now did not know where Ruby was, and could not risk friendly fire if she or Ironwood( if he had survived) attempted to finish their mission. For now, he would simply have to deal with the fact that the skies were under enemy control. Besides, he reasoned, his anti-air capabilities were nothing to brag about. It would require a substantial amount of luck to even hit the thing.

Pyrrha was looking totally impassive, which could be either good or bad. In the short term, it at least meant she was keeping it together until everyone was out of immediate danger. In order to break the tense silence, he gave some directions in regards of what to do once they landed.

"Once we land, we should all spread out and engage the White Fang at as many points as possible. That will make it more difficult for them to direct their forces and plan around us. We can all operate more independently than they can. Keep moving, and they won't be able to counterattack."

Everyone nodded, but was still tense. The wait before the inevitable fight was always the most nerve wracking, especially for rookies like these who had only fought Grimm before. While the Grimm were formidable in their durability, strength, and often size, it was an entirely different beast to go up against other humans in mortal combat. While the huntsmen in training wouldn't be aiming to kill, none of them were under any illusions about the intentions of their enemies.

The Courier switched his ammunition in the ZM LR-300 from Dust rounds to standard gunpowder full metal jacket rounds. His materialization was met by some strange looks from those unfamiliar with the technology, but he ignored them. No one said anything of course, as they had far larger concerns on the mind. Then, they all felt the abrupt jostling of the aircraft setting down. The door began to open as they all tense. As it hit the bottom, the Courier rushed out into the familiar chaos of a battlefield.


	87. Chapter 87 - Death and Detachment

Chapter 87 - Death and Detachment

* * *

Even muffled by the silencer, the Courier knew that the sound of his conventional rounds was nearly deafening to both his comrades and his enemies. Still, compared to the usual boom of the XM109, the ZM LR-300's 5.56 rounds were hardly louder than subsonic ammunition.

It had not taken any of them long to realize that the Atlas robots had been hacked. The color change and the fact that Atlas soldiers were shooting the mechs clued them in. It was fortunate that the Atlesian knights may as well have been made of paper maché for how easily they went down. If the things were better designed, in terms of both accuracy and durability, the group might have been in some trouble. As it was, even a single Dust pistol round was capable of taking one of the things down. It was clear that the robots were not designed to fight anything other than Grimm. This was further evidenced by their use of tactics that the Legion would have found obsolete. They made no effort to avoid fire or at all make themselves hard targets. The Courier did not even need to use VATS to dispatch dozens of the things at a time.

The Grimm on the other hand, were substantially more durable. Especially to 5.56 rounds. However, tactically speaking, Markus felt totally safe in ignoring the beasts for now. The others were more than capable of dealing with them, as that was what they had been trained for, and what the fighting styles of Remnant were designed for.

One thing he had not failed to notice was that both Atlas forces and Neptune used some form of energy weaponry. This now gave him carte blanche to use any and all energy weapons in his arsenal.

The Courier paused firing for a moment as he thought to send orders to both Vigiles and Vault-tec to use the M2 Brownings to defend themselves. He doubted they would get a better circumstance. Hopefully the addition of high volume high caliber fire would assist in the creation of strong points at warehouses, manufactories, and Vigiles headquarters to act as evacuation points.

His objective in this was as moral as it was simple, and as simple as it was necessary: Prevent casualties. While naturally, the Courier simply didn't like people dying, there was also the aspect of denying the enemy their objective. This is done by thwarting their plans. Since he did not know their exact plans, this was difficult. But, he knew that for terrorists, their plans hinged on their targets' reactions. They estimate the reactions based on assumptions. Markus figured that if he could make as many of their assumptions prove false as possible, it would force them to delay action, or even create an entirely new plan. If, for example, they expected Vale to take high civilian casualties from this attack and instead everyone got away without a scratch, the reaction of Vale would be different than they had anticipated. Thus, the Courier's plan was to simply frustrate the enemy at every turn and deny him every advantage. Of course, this only functioned to mitigate damage, rather than destroying the enemy's capability to wage war, but when fighting guerillas, it was the best he could do. Besides, he did have anything close to an army at his command, not even by wasteland standards and many a professional regular army had proven incapable of wiping out an insurgency.

It was telling how ill-trained and ill-prepared the White Fang were for this kind of open battle. The huntsmen and huntresses in training were capable of taking out a half dozen of them at a time without any real effort or danger. His own fire forced them to attempt to either seek cover or somehow get through the various melee combatants that were in between them. The Courier was still not intentionally killing anyone. He simply fired until his target went down when fighting the White Fang. He did not know whether it would be acceptable to kill them and he saw no immediate advantage to doing so. He did not know whether they were living or dead when they went down, but he took no special care to ensure either their survival or demise. In the heat of battle, no one was paying much attention to those taken out of the fight.

The problem with the White Fang was that he would sometimes need to put nearly a dozen rounds into a single target to take it down. This meant he had to reload often and had to fire continuously at a target for a couple seconds before it would go down. It was effective, but very inefficient. If they showed up in greater numbers, he would likely have to change tactics. That was something that could be dealt with later. Priority was taking them all out of combat. Then, things started to take a turn for the worse.

An advanced, autonomous version of the Atlas paladin showed up. And it had already taken out Nora. Which was annoying really. She probably would have been able to take the thing out without much difficulty. The way that the group was arranged put literally everyone else him and this new threat. As the Courier began to consider how he would deal with this, he was shot in the back.

This was actually the first time he had been hit in months. It hurt quite a lot, but his Aura stopped it cold. The feeling of a bullet lodged in his body would thankfully, for now, remain a memory. Markus immediately hit the ground and got to the nearest available cover. Bullets wizzed overhead, their tracers occasionally blinding him. White Fang had evidently inserted behind him and gotten the drop on him while he was distracted by the arrival of the mech. He popped up over his cover to begin engaging the new contacts. He did not like what he saw.

There were a lot of them, and they were very close. Emptying the magazine would be nowhere near enough. But, it was a good start. Four White Fang went down. They continued to close on him, rushing him with no regard for his bullets. By now, the others and their battle with the Paladin had taken them around a corner and out of sight. He drew the Blackhawk. Six shots and six White Fang went down. Some of them left their gray matter on the walls of Beacon. The grisly liquid reflected the pale light of the moon. The matte black revolver, did not.

He pistol-whipped the first man at him to the temple before ducking under the clumsy swing of the next while reloading, putting as much distance as he could between himself and the enemy. He once again emptied the weapon, much less accurately and on far fewer targets due to the close range, but with a far more lethal result. In a matter of moments, he had drawn the AA-12 and fire eight 12 gauge shells. Then, nothing was left standing and the distinctive pink mist had returned. The air smelled like iron. Even in the dark he could see the blood and ruined bodies.

Once they were all down, Markus switched back to the ZM LR-300 and cocked his head. He heard labored talking. One of the White Fang members was still conscious somewhere. His hearing told him two things. One, that the terrorist had identified him to whomever he was talking to and two, the origin of the voice. He raised the Blackhawk as he turned and blew out the back the Faunus' skull. There was a neat hole oozing blood in the center of his mask and pinkish shards of skull appeared stark white in contrast to the surrounding darkness. The Courier's eyes flitted away.

Despite the speed with which he dispatched the White Fang member, he did not manage to stop him from informing their command of his presence and location. And he knew that after their last encounter, the White Fang more than likely had devised some kind of countermeasure against him.

 _Or_ they would just send more, automated and up-armored, paladins at him as he now saw. Evidently they had become tired of losing troopers to him and decided that it was better to expend equipment than manpower. This was annoying. Markus was faced with a problem to which he had no perfect solution. Therefore he needed to choose the least bad of the options. It was an unenviable but familiar situation to him.

The fact was, 5.56 rounds, even armor piercing ones, would not even annoy something as heavily armored as these paladins. While they had been sufficient for his anti-infantry purposes against numerous soft targets, he now required something more heavyweight to destroy these things. He did not trust even the XM109 to pierce this armor. While it could eventually take it down, the Courier would need to target weak points which meant it would take a while to bring one down, and he had little faith in his ability to survive any kind of counterfire. He needed to take them out quickly, or find some more durable cover. These variants of Paladins had armor closer to main battle tanks compared to the manned prototypes that may as well have been made of cardboard. Of course, the problem was that anything he might use that would destroy the Paladins quickly would raise quite a few questions. Not that that was high priority, but he knew he would have to deal with the aftermath.

The simplest solution was power armor. That would provide him with the ability to withstand virtually anything the mechs could throw at him and allow him to take them down at his leisure. This was also the most conspicuous and difficult to explain of his options. Power armor was ridiculously advanced and highly unsubtle.

Red Glare was viable but risky. The rockets weren't that fast and would be vulnerable to any countermeasures that the Paladins had. There was no guarantee that he come take them out before they could return fire. Then, he came up with a ridiculously dangerous idea that might solve his problems. If he could close to essentially melee range, he could get too close to one of them for it to fire and make it simultaneously too dangerous for the others to attempt to hit him for fear of friendly fire. While this would be extremely risky, Aura gave him pretty good odds of blitzing past the targeting systems of the Paladins. He hoped. Once he got there, he had a couple tricks up his sleeve that could deal with them. And by "tricks" he meant plasma.


	88. Chapter 88 - Optimism

Chapter 88 - Optimism

It was not often that the Courier ran into, or even through, gunfire. Even in power armor he typically fought more conservatively than was strictly necessary. The ability to run faster than his enemy's ability to track him was something he rarely possessed. Only against junkie raiders or enemies sporting plasma weaponry at long range had he been able to apply it as a tactic previously. Now however, his Aura boosted speed allowed him to outrun the targeting of highly advanced warmachines. In his right hand was his Desert Eagle, in his left a plasma grenade.

Markus was highly aware that he had an extremely limited supply of plasma grenades, as he didn't normally carry many with him because typically, grenades, especially ones designed to function best against heavy armor, were not necessary. As such, dozens of them were currently stored in the Sink. The Courier, as usual decided to be more careful with his ammunition than with his life.

As he began to see White Fang infantry arrive either to support the Paladins or hunt him, he exhaled and relaxed his grip on his weapon, before aiming briefly, not stopping, and let off a shot from the Desert Eagle, not bothering to check whether it hit or not. The ominous, deafening boom would be enough to suppress them for now. If a Faunus had gone down with a gaping hole in his back, so much the more effective. And any moral implications of killing someone, albeit a delusional fanatic, were deliberately ignored. As per usual.

Someone once said, "And if you gaze long into an abyss, the abyss also gazes into you." So the Courier's solution was to look very pointedly _away_ from the abyss, doing his very best to ignore its presence and very existence. Yet, it remained on the peripherals of his metaphorical vision. Inherent and inescapable, the result of near constant trauma on an unprepared mind, manifest in his subconscious. The Courier armed and threw a plasma grenade at the most distant Paladin.

The speed with which he threw it meant that leading the target was almost entirely unnecessary. It was timed perfectly, detonating on impact. The plasma burned away the metal into a heap of glowing goo, utterly destroying the central structure of the Paladin that it had. The advanced armor it had made no difference. It had no chance against the heavily ionized material the plasma grenade emitted.

The Courier lept to the top of the Paladin he had been charging and fired a .50 cal round at something that looked important. And it died. And so did the other mechs. Something had happened, but the Courier wasn't about to complain. He was too busy picking off the remaining White Fang with the Blackhawk. He had switched from the Desert Eagle so when he shot them he could at least pretend that he wasn't killing people. Unfortunately, he could still see far too many of their skulls splatter like ripe fruit with each shot. He did not like it, he never did, but it was necessary. Of course it was. There was no other option.

Now, he had a priority. He needed to get back to the group, keeping their forces concentrated would be best in this situation. Besides, he needed to make sure Pyrrha was keeping it together. He hoped she didn't think he was dead again. The last thing he needed was her heart giving out. Things were bad enough with her as it was. So bad in fact, it was easier simply not to even think about it for now. Right, damage control. Markus saw what appeared to be an evacuation shuttle come in for landing. Well, he had no better ideas, so he went for the only humans he knew the location of. His dead sprint left a trail of dead Grimm and incapacitating White Fang behind him.

Markus knew he needed an actual plan as the battlescarred courtyards of Beacon passed him by. Nothing he was doing was having any major tactical effect. Both the Grimm and the White Fang seemed not at all bothered by someone like him slaughtering them in droves. He needed to take some action that would prove decisive in this battle. He still found regrouping with his team his best bet, as no matter how good he was, more people equaled more firepower, which in turn equaled quicker combats. Perhaps with a group of elite combatants, he could find something he could hit that would damage the offensive.

Taking control of the skies would be ideal. Of course, he had no way of doing that. And a giant Grimm Dragon thing just started circling so unless he could magic up some fighter jets, the enemy had air superiority. So basically he had no ideas. He was stuck looking for targets of opportunity. As he had been doing for months. It was so _frustrating_ being unable to do anything to his enemies. Not only on the coldly strategic level, but also the profound feeling of helplessness while knowing that people are dying.

He arrived at the evac zone to a highly unpromising sight. Oobleck and Port were evacuating everyone from Beacon. The area was being abandoned to the enemy. White-Weiss-, he thought patronizingly, Ruby, and Sun were standing together and noticed his was going to ask for a sitrep, but realized who he was talking to.

"What's going on?" asked Markus.

"There's Markus," said Sun, addressing Ren and Nora, who had been concealed behind the standing trio.

"Where have you been?" asked Weiss.

"The White Fang sent a special ops squad to kill me."

No one said anything, but the statement had the shock value it intended. No one would ask questions. Not that he had anything to hide, as that was literally what had happened, but reinforcing the gravity of the situation was always useful.

"But Pyrrha's still missing!" said Nora. Fuck. The Courier's head whipped to where she was sitting.

"When and where did you last see her?" he asked.

"Right before we all got separated," supplied Weiss.

Markus cursed quietly. This made things extremely difficult. The Courier's gaze moved past Nora and Ren to the prone figures on the ground that he identified as Blake and Yang. Yang was an arm short. Shit. Well, he couldn't fix that. Blake, Nora, and Ren however, did not seem to be missing any limbs.

"Alright, here's the plan:," he materialized four stimpacks, "Inject these into the wounded. They're military grade versions of the standard product Vault-tec makes. They won't regrow limbs, but they should get everyone in fighting shape." He just gave them to Ren and Nora, neither being squeamish with needles injected themselves and Blake and Yang. The former of the two was recovering quickly, but remained incoherent, while the latter was still out like a light, probably from shock.

"What about Pyrrha?" asked Ruby.

"Since no one knows where she is, I'll have to find her. Once I do, we can go get her. In the meantime, keep anything that wants to kill us away from me. This needs to be done as fast as possible."

As the Courier was now very familiar with the architecture of the operating system the Scrolls used, it took mere moments for him to design a method to find Pyrrha. He sent a script to her Scroll that would automatically run when the device downloaded the message. It would update him with her exact location to with only a few meters. They now needed to wait for the agonizingly slow download to commence with their search and retrieve mission. And Blake seemed to be coming too. Good. He would take everyone he could get in this rescue mission.


	89. Chapter 89 - Danger Close

**AN: Hiatus is over**

Chapter 89 - Danger Close

* * *

"I got her," he said. Then the Courier cursed.

"She's at the top of the tower. We have no time to waste."

The last part of the sentence was said with a sense of urgency and galvanized the others into action. This was a matter of life and death.

Ruby gave a determined nod. Nora, Ren, and Weiss would also be assisting him in this search and rescue mission. Sun and Blake would remain with the rest to oversee the evacuation and act as a rear guard. All had recovered very quickly after the stimpacks had been administered.

The Courier set off at a pace the others struggled to match. He was running and gunning with his Adaptive Combat Rifle. The 5.56 rounds weren't large enough to kill the Grimm outright, but the rate of fire ensured that each of them received a few, which was enough to stop them from closing to a range at which they would impede him. They did not need to be dead, only unable to fight.

At which point the Grimm dragon landed on the tower. He would take a mini-nuke to that thing's face if it stood in his way. For now, he was too far away to use something as slow moving as a mini-nuke.

Unfortunately, the dragon had the side effect of creating patches of darkness that spawned Grimm. Whether these were dimensional tears or something that completely disregarded conservation of mass, the Courier really couldn't care less about right then as he and his companions were currently dealing with a swarm of large Grimm. He had taken out some of the larger Grimm with the XM109 before switching to dual wield the Blackhawk and his Desert Eagle.

It was not a particularly practical method under most circumstances, but as time was of the essence and he was in a target rich environment, putting as many bullets as he could at the enemy was currently top priority. It was right then that he really wished he had thought to pick up an M2. God knew he could use the rate of fire.

Once both pistols were dry, he switched to the shocksword and ballistic fist. This would be difficult as he really didn't have the time to try to equip armor and wanted to avoid any friendly-fire incidents. His companions would not recognize him in anything other than Benny's suit and he did not exactly have the time to explain.

As he was slashing the nearest Grimm into a radioactive puddle, he saw something very disturbing on his Pip-boy: Pyrrha's Aura was depleting at an alarming rate. She was under attack up there. He checked the Grimm Dragon. The thing was still perched on the the tower, not really doing much. So that was not the cause.

Pyrrha was quite the formidable fighter as he knew first hand. If she was losing Aura this quickly, something was going very badly, and she was in mortal danger. He could not afford to take any risks. Saving Pyrrha's life was top priority here. He was not letting her die when it was in his power to save her. At any personal cost.

"Hold this position!" he yelled, before running directly at the tower in a dead sprint. Any attempt to help him would have been worse than useless.

Anything in his way was soon out of it, either sliced by laser cut titanium, or with a gaping hole in the abdomen, courtesy of his ballistic fist. His speed meant that the Grimm had virtually no chance against him. They could not react before he struck. Their own strikes fell far behind him at the rate with which he moved forward.

The inside of the tower was abandoned and a mess, looking not so different from many of the buildings he had explored in the wastelands. He heard a loud rumbling above and a crash outside, along with another screech of the dragon. He instantly checked his Pip-boy, verifying that Pyrrha remained his relief, Markus saw that she was, and immediately rushed to the nearest elevator. Of course, he immediately realized that the elevator was gone and the shaft looked utterly destroyed. It should have been obvious that that would be the case. Of course, that left him utterly fucked. While there probably were stairs somewhere, Pyrrha would be long dead by the time he reached the top.

A Grimm burst through the far entrance. He drew his Blackhawk and sent blood red pieces of its skull flying with a double tap of .44 magnum rounds. He didn't have time for this. Pyrrha had perhaps two minutes at most to live at this rate.

There was a very good reason the Courier was known for his problem solving abilities. He had exactly one method of upward movement: the jetpack on his power armor. Naturally, it wasn't exactly able to propel him about a hundred stories into the air. So, in a highly reckless maneuver, he strapped half a dozen fission batteries and overcharged microfusion cells to it. Most people would say he was taking "any means necessary" a little too literally. If this didn't work, it was highly likely it would be lethal, and even if it did work, there was no doubt it would damage at least the jetpack, if not more critical components of the power armor. Markus would do it regardless.

The Lone Courier equipped his power armor and ran into the elevator shaft.

The ride up was extremely quick, and gave his armor quite a few new scratches and dings. Every time he made contact with one of the walls of the shaft it created a shower of sparks, momentarily blinding him. He cut the jetpack as soon as he saw the sky. It was fortunate that his reflexes were as augmented as they were. If he had released too early or too late, it was quite likely that he would have ended his life as a spot on the pavement somewhere around the tower. An ignoble end, to say the least.

He landed on one knee and looking up activated VATS. Things were bad. Things were very bad. Things were actually horrendously bad. He was off to one side of the two occupants of the rooftop, out of their line of sight. Pyrrha was kneeling, with her back to him, Aura totally depleted and an arrow through her calf. A woman, _the_ masked woman he recognized, was aiming a black bow at Pyrrha, execution style. The arrow was already drawn. The Courier now had a problem.

At this stage, killing the woman was no guarantee of Pyrrha's safety. Indeed, at this range, should the woman happen to lose her head, it was entire possible that the arrow would still hit something vital on Pyrrha. Given how easily the woman seemed to have defeated Pyrrha, he had to concede that a .44 magnum round might not be enough to put her down.

There was only one solution he could see.

He shifted his aim to the woman's left hand. The sheer kinetic force of the impact should at the very least throw her aim off wildly. In a best case scenario, it would take off her hand and destroy what appeared to be her only weapon. But, the Courier never anticipated a best case scenario. Optimism was useless in combat. He would exploit opportunities as they came or force them, but relying on good fortune was effectively suicide.

The bullet certainly had achieved its minimum objective as Pyrrha remained alive. However, he also saw that the bow had shattered into a series of glowing fragments before disappearing. Then, he made a tactical decision. He did not fire again, and lowered his weapon.

His target turned in an instant to face him. He saw that while her hand seemed intact, she was holding it differently than the other one. Internally, he grinned sadistically. Her hands then ignited, each holding a small flame. He did not react. The fact that she had not raised her hands yet was a good sign, and when the woman spoke, his guess had been proven correct.

"Ah, Markus Friedrich. I wondered when we would finally meet."

He showed no response to the fact she knew his identity, despite his wearing power armor. He had figured she was the megalomaniac who had hacked the PA system hearing her voice confirmed it. From that long-winded speech she had delivered, he knew she loved to monologue. Now, he was using it against her. He possessed less than conventional means of taking her down. As he did not know her capabilities, there was no such thing as overkill. He clasped his hands behind his back as he walked, simultaneous changing back into Benny's suit. It was a risky move, but one that he felt would be worth it.

"Well, well, well. I can't say I'm terribly surprised by see _you_ up here. I can however, say I am surprised that you decided not to wear a mask this time."

As he did this, he surreptitiously materialized the laser designator. A roar from the Grimm Dragon reminded him why this was necessary. The thing remained on the tower. He aimed it at the floor. This position was lost, all that was left was asset denial: scorched earth. The information was instantly sent to the remote rocket artillery(RRA). Five identical messages flashed on his Pip-boy.

"Standby; firing for effect."

He just as quickly dematerialized the weapon and rematerialized the Blackhawk, taking it out in front of him, pretending to fiddle with the chambers. He had to buy time until the rockets hit.

If the woman was surprised by the fact he had recognized her, she gave no indication of it. Her eyes merely glinted predatorily.

Pyrrha was giving him a pleading look that half said "help" and half said "run". He made sure not to meet her eyes, and maintained eye contact with the crimson irises of the red megalomaniac. Keeping her attention off of Pyrrha was of the utmost importance.

All he had to was leave before the missiles hit. The woman would be a non-factor. Nothing would survive this bombardment. It _was_ troubling that she had managed to defeat Pyrrha. Pyrrha's semblance should have made her unbeatable when she was not trying to hide her usage of it. He had no idea the extent of the woman's abilities and was currently taking the safest route available to him. Markus did not miss the comedy of the fact that what he considered to be the safest option was to call in an artillery strike literally on his position.

Naturally, his intended means of extraction was the transportalponder. While it was currently in a sorry state, and he typically would not have used it, these were desperate times. Indeed, as far as solutions went, he could not even deliver a mini-nuke to the megalomaniac's smug face because of Pyrrha's presence. She would almost certainly be caught in the blast.

He needed to keep the red woman on the roof until there was no time for her to even attempt to escape. Which was the reason he was speaking with her at all, rather than attempting to pump 25mm rounds into her cranium. As long as he could keep her gloating in her presumed victory, her defeat was certain.

There was another very good reason he had for not engaging his enemy conventionally. That reason, was currently kneeling on the floor with an arrow through her leg. The entire reason he was up here was to save Pyrrha. If this devolved into a pitched battle, he had little confidence in his ability to keep her alive.

"Oh I think the time for secrecy is very much over, wouldn't you agree?" Her eyes reflected the flickering flames she held. He could tell she was lying. She knew who he was and knew at the very least that he kept secrets, even if she did not know of their exact nature.

Likewise, he knew that the invasion of Vale was not the only thing his enemy had planned. And there were certainly many secrets she and her allies kept. That was the way this game was played after all. He did not even know her name.

"Perhaps _your_ time for secrets has ended. _I_ however, still retain one."

At this he very casually drew and activated the Transportalponder. He kept it aimed at a forty-five degree angle to the sky. He still intended to avoid direct conflict. As he had been walking, while it had been seemingly aimless with him backtracking and pacing several times, it had taken him close enough to Pyrrha that he could grab her once the transportalponder was ready. The device began to glow. The woman was evidently quite amused by his last statement.

"Do tell," she said with an insufferably patronizing smile.

The Courier could make out the rocket trails on the horizon: time to leave.

"These are the last words you will ever hear."

Her eyes narrowed and she raised her hands, the flames flaring as she did so.

Then, a few things happened.

First, the Courier dived towards Pyrrha as the transportalponder's lights began to increase in intensity. Immediately upon contact with his partner, he saw something that nearly made his heart stop: Ruby with the streaks of several rockets behind her, on the edge of the tower, about a dozen meters away. He did not know how or why she was here, but she needed to get out of there, and about a minute ago as well. Her semblance made it actually possible for her to survive at this point. Anyone else would have been already dead.

"Ruby, **run.** "

Before he could do anything else, his vision was blocked by a wall of flame and the transportalponder activated.

* * *

 **AN: Hiatus is over updates resuming.**


	90. Chapter 90 - Out of the Frying Pan

**AN:** Revised Versions of Chapters 21-30 are out.

* * *

Chapter 90 - Out of the Frying Pan...

* * *

From the second Markus emerged from the portal, he knew something was wrong. Instead of the cold, unyielding, steel of the Sink underneath him he felt the coarse, rough, and irritating sand that was typical of the Mojave beneath him.

Pyrrha was still kneeling as she had been, but now with her head bowed. The Courier's right hand remained on her left shoulder while his left still held the transportalponder. For a moment, there was no movement.

The Courier looked up and saw one of the last things he wanted to see: the red, sun-blasted pillars of Monument Valley.

New Mexico. This was bad. Very very bad. While the Courier was enough of a smartass to know that technically he was lucky that the transportalponder had worked at all, and had not dropped them in the middle of the ocean or somewhere in space, he knew that this was a very bad place to end up. He and Pyrrha were deep in Legion controlled territory.

A whimper from his right jolted him out of his analysis.

Markus immediately went into doctor mode. He examined Pyrrha's wound. The arrow itself appeared to have deteriorated into inert Dust upon leaving Remnant's atmosphere.

"Don't move."

They were the first words Markus had said to Pyrrha since they had arrived, though that was mere seconds ago. The arrow had been a broadhead of particularly nasty design based on the shape of the wound. As the Courier examined it he saw a few things. The arrow had gone straight through the bone, leaving a hole through the entirety of Pyrrha's calf. While initially he was concerned about the inert Dust particles getting in the wound and causing problems, however the rate that blood was pouring from it made the Dust irrelevant.

Without so much as warning Pyrrha, the Courier held her upper calf to the ground and injected a stimpack slightly above where the arrow had struck her. Pyrrha let out a choked and ragged sigh, an empathetically painful noise even as her body mended itself in mere seconds. A not insignificant amount of Pyrrha's blood stained the ground.

With the most immediate crisis dealt with, the Courier moved from where he was crouched backwards into a sitting position letting out a sigh as he did so. He unconsciously noticed a small amount of Pyrrha's blood of his hands and wiped it into the sand. What a mess. Before Markus could even consider how to deal with the situation, he noticed the next crisis.

Pyrrha was sobbing. It was a pained, choked noise that wracked her entire frame. A pitiful, broken sound full of the emptiness of despair.

It was a sound the Courier had witnessed many times before, though he had never experienced it himself. He had come close, in particularly dark times, but had managed to avoid it through a (some would say unhealthy) obsession with something beyond himself. He would create some kind of goal that he could not morally fail and work towards it with desperate determination, all while holding onto the ideal of the Good Fight like a lifeline.

Yet despite the fact the Courier had seen this before, he had no real idea of how to fix it. The only people who had broken down like this were people who had been fundamentally broken. Markus supposed he was lucky that prior to now, none of the few people he was close to had ever broke like this.

And now, he had no idea what to do. Pyrrha was sobbing inconsolably in front of him, and his task was to console her.

Markus stood up and took a step towards Pyrrha before going down into the same kneeling position as she was in. He hoped this would go better than the last time he had done something similar. He had no means of getting to an Autodoc anymore. He put his left hand on her shoulder.

"Pyrrha. We're safe now. It's all over. Everything's-"

Before he could complete his sentence, Pyrrha put her arms around him in hug that felt as though she believed her life depended on it. She was now crying into his shoulder, her entire body shuddering with the sobs. Her breathing was fast and erratic. He worried she might end up hyperventilating. Markus gingerly returned the hug, softly patting her back.

"Everything is going to be fine. Everything's fine…"

Markus kept repeating meaningless reassurances.

He was using a tone that virtually everyone trained in medicine had, a soothing, reassuring voice meant to keep patients calm as well as check lucidity, ensuring they did not allow themselves to lose consciousness.

He really didn't know how to help Pyrrha after what she had been through other than just lying to her that everything was going to be fine. In the last 48 hours, Pyrrha had mutilated him badly enough that the both of them would be traumatized by itl, become the first person on Remnant to leave the planet, been manipulated into killing Penny, was seconds away from being killed herself, and became the first person from Remnant to be stranded on another planet. It was hardly a surprise that she had broken down. Especially considering how little she knew. She didn't know why Penny had died, why she had injured him so badly, or even where she was. Sooner or later she was going to start asking questions, and he had no answers to give her.

On the bright side, Pyrrha's breathing had slowed and she quieted down, regaining some degree of composure. The Courier released her. After a moment, Pyrrha did the same before taking a small step back. For the first time since they had arrived on Earth, Markus and Pyrrha made eye contact. Pyrrha's eyes were red and teary, but she was now holding it together. She had done so remarkably quickly. That was good. It was probably best to shelve these issues until they were out of Legion territory. Pyrrha spoke,

"Where are we?"

Her voice was unsteady and wavering.

The Courier looked at his Pip-Boy, more for the effect than any need to ascertain his location. He did however take note of which direction they would need to travel in to reach the Big MT.

"Monument Valley, New Mexico."

"Where is 'New Mexico?'"

Markus now noticed a large amount of smoke on horizon in the far distance behind Pyrrha. It was almost imperceptible but across a long width, indicating either a town or a camp. Since this was Legion territory, it was more likely the latter.

"It's hostile territory. I know you have a ton of questions, but right now what we need to do is get somewhere safe."

The Courier once again looked at his Pip-Boy just for show.

"According to the maps I have here, we should go that way."

The Courier pointed West. He noted the sun was a decent amount past the midpoint, making it midafternoon.

"A-Alright."

Pyrrha's voice was not having any noticeable improvements. Well at least she was functioning. They both needed to get to Big MT as fast as possible and out of Legion territory. The fact that Pyrrha was with him meant that it was only a matter of time before someone noticed their presence, even if he took care to avoid any human contact. Once the Legion noticed someone was in their territory they would send some Frumentarii to investigate. Once they were slaughtered the Legion assassins would be sent in.

The odds of Pyrrha make it out of this weren't good. While he was confident in his ability to deal with all the Legion could throw at him, he was substantially less confident in his ability to protect Pyrrha from the same.

The Courier started to walk west, checking over his shoulder to ensure that Pyrrha was following him. She took an uncertain first step and nearly fell over.

"Why do I feel so...weak?" Pyrrha asked.

The Courier figured out why almost instantly, though it was not something he had foreseen: Pyrrha was unused to acting without Aura. He supposed it was as if one had lived their entire life in power armor. Markus himself didn't really notice much of a difference, however he was aware he wasn't exactly using his Aura optimally.

"Aura doesn't function here."

" _What?_ How? Why doesn't it?"

"I'll explain later. For now, we need to get out of here before someone tries to kill us."


	91. Chapter 91 - And Into the Fire

Chapter 91 - ...And Into the Fire

* * *

The Courier had been forced to go at an agonizingly slow pace in order to account for Pyrrha. She was having a hard time trekking through the desert, weakened both mentally and physically. It didn't help that she was hardly equipped for the venture. While her manner of dress was hardly unusual on Remnant, here it was almost comically out of place. The high heeled boots she wore did not help matters, nor did the decorative greaves. The former made walking difficult, while the latter made her ill suited for the temperature swings of the desert.

The ornate are well-made clothing seemed like an anachronism in the world that surrounded it. The Courier realized that the suit he himself wore was equally out of place; though that was because New Vegas itself was something of an anachronism, yet another relic of the Old World that had survived the Great War. The pair of them must be a rather surreal image: a man in a white checkered suit and a girl dressed like Athena walking through Monument Valley, with not a soul for miles.

They had been walking for a little over half an hour and while the going was slow, the Courier was broadly satisfied with the progress that they were making. The smoke on the horizon was now only barely visible. Avoiding the Legion was top priority. Pyrrha, as she was, was far too fragile to have any hope of surviving a pitched battle involving large numbers of combatants.

Pyrrha was having difficulty going at walking pace, but was managing. It was probably a good thing that the simple act of walking required so much of her attention. Without it, the hours upon hours of monotonous walking would inevitably lead her mind to wander back to the recent events that scarred her. Still, Markus knew he should probably find her some more appropriate shoes for long distance walking. He couldn't keep this charade up forever. It was quite likely they were going to be here for a long time.

Markus walked directly next to and slightly ahead of Pyrrha, both leading the way and being close enough to assist her should anything go wrong. It also ensured he would be the first point of contact with the enemy, should they encounter any.

As they passed beneath the shade of one of the valley's eponymous sandstone Monuments, the tactical thinking put into the Courier's chosen position was validated in an instant. From the black shadows of the Monument, a dessicated, bony hand grabbed at the Courier's ankle. Without conscious thought he fired Maria into where the head of the ghoul would be. With the other hand, he pushed Pyrrha away from the conflict. While the Courier had pulled the trigger, the ghoul remained alive and the bullet unfired. It took him a split second to realize the problem: Maria was still loaded with Dust ammunition. He punted the first ghoul in the head with a bone-shattering kick and swapped ammo. More ghouls began to rise from the shaded sand. Then just about the worst thing possible happened: Pyrrha tripped. Evidently backpedaling in heels on sand would do that.

As far as the Courier could see, there were six ghouls. None of them were more than two meters from him, and none more than three from Pyrrha. He needed to kill all of them _now._ He could not let any of them reach Pyrrha. There was only one option.

The Courier activated VATS.

In the space of two seconds twelve shots were fired. Six bodies fell softly to the sand, each with two bullets to the head. Evidently ghouls were less durable than he was.

Another ghoul attempted to rise. The magazine empty, the Courier crushed its skull with a simple punch from his left hand. His bones were stronger than a 200 year old body.

With that done, he turned and lifted Pyrrha to her feet, half dragging her towards a low ridge to the northeast, away from here.

"How did you do that? I thought Aura didn't work here? What were those things?"

Markus could hear, and feel, how close Pyrrha was to panic. Her breathing was speeding up again. The intervention of the unexpected caused her to think of her situation once again, and she was once again on the verge of hyperventilating.

" _Later_. I just fired thirteen shots while in hostile territory. We need cover and we need it fast. We need to lie low until whoever is sent to investigate those shots comes and goes."

The ridge would offer cover from observation from the area that he had engaged the ghouls. The problem was that the bodies remained there. Whoever came to investigate would find a bunch of freshly killed ghouls, shot to death with 13 shots. The Legion would know someone was in the area. And with how tightly controlled their institution was, as well as how rarely the used firearms, they would know it was not one of their own. It did not help that 9mm was the caliber of the NCR sidearm.

He could always hold out hope that despite those factors the deterioration of the Legion would mean that they were in too much disarray to bother investigating something as trivial as gunshots. It _had_ been months since all semblance of leadership the Legion possessed had been wiped out. But not being an optimist, the Courier knew that it was entirely possible that in the interim the power vacuum had been filled by new figures. He only hoped the NCR had not wasted their opportunity through inaction and allowing the Legion to regroup.

For now however, he simply put himself and Pyrrha behind a shale formation on the ridge that would protect them from observation by anyone who decided to come take a look where the gunfire came from.

Now, all there was to do was wait.

" _What is going on_?"

Oh. And try to deflect and postone Pyrrha's questions. Markus didn't even have an endgame at this point. He knew he couldn't deflect and avoid these questions for ever. At some point she was going to demand answers. The fact was he knew she wouldn't like the answers.

That was a massive understatement. He had severe doubts for her ability to cope with the revelation of her situation. He also dreaded her reaction to the reality of who he was. The amount of trust and faith that she placed in him made the fact that essentially everything he had told her and everything she knew about him was a lie. And the truth was that he was a man who had killed over a thousand people. Hardly the best revelation. That in and of itself would have been bad enough but compounded with everything that had happened earlier encouraged the Courier to at least hold off until she was more stable.

Even had this come out weeks early, at Beacon, it would likely have been enough to cause some kind of breakdown. It was entirely rational and expected. He had taken advantage of her trust massively. On its own, that kind of betrayal was enough of an issue, but with Pyrrha stranded in an alien world at her lowest the revelation that her best friend is some kind of covert agent living under an assumed identity with the blood of thousands on his hands was a bit much. This was not information Pyrrha was ready for. He had dug his own grave with this, and he was prepared to lie in it quite resolutely, but Pyrrha appeared to be unhappily condemned to the same fate.

" _Where are we_?"

It looked like he didn't have a choice.

"To answer your first question, we were attacked by creatures called 'feral ghouls.' In the course of dealing with them, I fired thirteen shots. Given we are currently in territory of people who would do worse than execute us if they were to find us, we are currently hiding to avoid that."

"And my second question?" asked Pyrrha, unusually drily.

Markus had hoped she would have forgotten it, being distracted with some aspect of the first question. But, no luck.

"You're not going to like it."

"Anything is better than not knowing."

With no small amount of anxiety in his metal heart, the Courier pointed at the very faint and small moon, barely visible in the still blue sky. And waited.


	92. Chapter 92 - Psalm 137:1

Chapter 92 - Pslam 137:1

* * *

"Oh."

Pyrrha's mind was whirring at a million miles per hour. There was a small and whole moon barely visible against the still blue sky. While she had only previously seen it for the briefest moment, Pyrrha realized the moon was the same one that she had seen after she had… Some things were better not thought about. Even the act of almost thinking about it brought crashing waves of guilt, regret, and horror.

Steeling herself, Pyrrha knew now that she was in the same place that she had been before though the landscape looked totally different and there was no blue dome of energy. While everything else was different, the moon was unmistakable. An unshattered moon. While Pyrrha's mind was not in the best condition, she knew that there was only one explanation: she was on another planet.

Pyrrha had to fight the rising waves of panic in her chest. While the prospect of being stuck on a hostile alien world was terrifying, it did explain a few things. Such as why Aura didn't work. And the reason she had never heard of any place called "Monument Valley New Mexico."

While the fact that they were now on an alien planet answered a few questions, it brought up another that she knew she would not like the answer to: how did Markus know so much about this place?

Pyrrha knew she wouldn't like the answer because the answer was obvious: he had been here before, and frequently enough to have a place where he could get surgery good enough to…

Pyrrha felt like crying again. And she hated herself for it. She hated feeling weak, and that was how she had been feeling for the last couple of days. Weak and lost, not understanding entirely what was happening or why, just trying to do her best and make the right decisions. And look at the mess she had ended up in. She had been literally milliseconds from death before Markus arrived. Now they were stuck on a different planet together.

Pyrrha had known her partner been keeping secrets. That had been something he was upfront about ironically. But she never would have suspected he was hiding something like this. _How_ did he know this place? Why? Was he the only one who knew about this place? How was the atmosphere breathable but different enough that Aura didn't work? What were those, Pyrrha repressed a shudder, feral ghouls? They looked like mummified corpses, though their eyes remained eerily intact. Their rising from the sand was like something out of a nightmare.

Markus had not reacted strongly to their presence, seemingly entirely unsurprised by their existence. What was most worrying to Pyrrha was that while he was not concerned about the ferals, he was concerned about who or what would come to investigate the gunshots. It would be something worse.

Pyrrha looked down from the moon. She made eye contact with her partner. Seconds passed. Neither spoke. Pyrrha didn't know what to say. She had too many thoughts in her mind to speak.

Before she could do anything, Markus closed the distance and whispered, "Down!" pulling her down into a crouch with him against the rock formation they were hiding behind.

Pyrrha's heart started pounding. Evidently he had seen something. It had only been a few minutes since the shots had been fired. Whoever had come to investigate must have been really close by in order to have arrived this quickly.

Suddenly Markus materialized a rifle and handed it to her, before whispering,

"M14. Similar to Miló. Ten rounds in a magazine, semi-automatic. Magazine release is here," he pointed at it, "and the safety is here. Make sure to shoulder it properly, you don't have Aura to help with the recoil. Hold your fire unless you feel you're likely to be discovered."

Pyrrha gave her partner a short nod in understanding before taking the weapon. While she still felt impotent and out of place, she felt a little less naked with a weapon in her hands. Before she could wonder anything further, Markus pressed a couple of buttons on his Pip-Boy. His white checkered suit disappeared, replaced with dull green and brown armor that covered his entire body. His entire head was encased in a helmet that featured what looked like a gas mask. Above it were two opaque crimson lenses. It looked a bit eery. Not giving the opportunity for Pyrrha to wonder anything else, Markus lay flat to ground and began to crawl around the edge of the shale formation.

* * *

While the Courier generally killed Legion members as soon as he saw them, in this instance he understood that it was best to simply let those that were here to investigate to come and go, reporting that all that happened was some feral ghouls had been killed, presumably by some traveler or caravan that had since left. Once this was reported, Legion command would consider the matter resolved and lower their guard. If he took out the patrol, their absence would be noted. Even if he took the time to hide their bodies well enough that they would never be found, they would simply be presumed dead and a larger force would be sent to investigate.

While even this hypothetical larger force would have little chance of killing him, he had no means of protecting Pyrrha in a pitched battle and given how much difficulty she had been having with more mundane challenges he doubted her capabilities towards killing large numbers of Legionnaires. So that was not an option. He needed to ensure that the Legionnaires that were investigating the shots would simply leave.

The fact that they had arrived within a matter of minutes was highly troubling. It should have taken far longer if they were from any kind of major settlement. Perhaps this was a scattered group of remnants from a lost battle? Or less optimistically a patrol for an army on the march? Whatever the case, it meant that the situation was even more precarious than he had realized. There could very well be an entire cohort mere miles away.

As the Courier slowly edged above the crest of the ridge he hugged the face of the shale formation as the turned the corner. Cresting a ridge was a dangerous business. There was a high potentially for being spotted as one was silhouetted against the horizon. The Courier hoped to merge his silhouette with that of the rock formation, preventing detection from casual observation. He also made sure push himself down into the sand, lowering his profile. He had Christine's Circle of Steel rifle out, primarily for observation purposes. He did not intend to use it, but in the scope would aid in identifying the type of Legionnaires that had come to investigate. And if worst came to worst, he was prepared to kill them.

Looking through the scope of the rifle, the Courier could see that there were three Legionnaires there. Scouts. The kind that would perform patrols surrounding an encampment, settlement or army on the march. Given that there were no signs of the first two options anywhere near even for these scouts to arrive within minutes, the Courier was forced to assume the latter was true. The need to remain undetected had become imperative.

And then the Legionnaires looked at the ground.

 _Oh._ The Courier realized that there was a highly visible series of tracks in the sand that led directly to where he and Pyrrha were hiding. While the tracks in this climate would typically be gone within ten minutes or so, in this case they remained, telling exactly where they were.

The Courier fired three rounds. The Legionnaires slumped pathetically to the ground. The scope ensured the Courier saw all the gruesome detail of their deaths. The Courier stood up and grabbed Pyrrha by the arm.

"We need to leave."

The original plan had been to cut through Legion territory, making a beeline directly to Big MT. Now, he needed somewhere safe, somewhere where the Legion couldn't follow. The Lone Courier looked at his Pip-Boy and found North. They were going to Utah. They were returning to Zion. And perhaps, the Burned Man may have his revenge.


	93. Chapter 93 - Tu Fui Ego Eris

Chapter 93 - Tu Fui Ego Eris

* * *

Pyrrha had no idea what just happened. Last she knew she was hiding as Markus told her, while he had changed into some body armor and had gone around the side of the rock they were hiding behind. Then, she had heard three suppressed shots, incredibly close together. Before she could react Markus appeared back around the corner, still wearing the dull green armor and that eerie gas mask-looking helmet.

"We need to leave."

No longer was his tone soft and comforting. His voice was serious, and all-business. Once again giving Pyrrha no time to respond, he hoisted her to her feet and again half-dragged her in the direction they had come from as fast as her legs would carry her. Actually judging by how much she stumbled, slightly faster than her legs could carry her.

Yet despite the pace they were moving at, and the difficulty she had maintaining it, Pyrrha still spent an eternity transfixed by the three bloodied corpses on the ground. It was an image now burned into her mind.

The popular image propagated by movies and other forms of media of a person shot in the head was a rather clean one. A simple bloody but neat hole in the head where the bullet had entered. Eyes closed, the body looking otherwise much the same as it did in life. Other than the special-effects applied bullet wound, they appeared little different than someone who was sleeping. The reality was the antithesis of this clean, sterile image.

She retched. Pyrrha had already been feeling nauseous since arrival, but this was bad. She had to force down the urge to vomit.

Of the three bodies, one was on its side, one one on its back, and one on its front. Through the haze of the horror Pyrrha noted the strange clothing they wore. They all wore some kind of leather armor with a leather tunic. _Strange._ One had some kind of rifle while the two others still held brutish angular matching hoods were all covered in blood and torn by the bullet. The entry wounds looked much like Pyrrha had imagined them, small, neat holes, oozing blood. It was the exit wounds where the true horror was. All along the sand was rivulets of crimson blood, still flowing away from the bodies. Worse was the shattered pieces of skull and pulverized bone along with gray matter strew along the desert floor.

But it got worse. The bodies were anything but still. Every few seconds one of them would spasm, causing her to recoil in horror. Just small twitches in their limb muscles. Pyrrha would have thought they were still alive had their brains not been decorating the sands.

Pyrrha realized that mere hours ago she was milliseconds from this. This had almost become her fate, bleeding on the ground, muscles spasming with her soul long gone. She tried to look at her partner for comfort, but her eyes met only the back of his head.

Markus refused to look at her. He just kept pulling her firmly forward. Pyrrha was too in shock to perform coherent thoughts. Her mind was in stunned silence at what she had witnessed.

Meanwhile, the Courier's mind was on an entirely different track, to the point that he totally ignored his partner's reaction. Right now he knew he needed to develop a long term plan to getting out of here and back to the Big MT. Zion was North West of their location. Despite this, the Courier prioritized getting North, out of Legion territory. The Arizona-New Mexico border was far too close to Flagstaff for his liking. By himself he would have been able to cut through Legion territory without too much of a problem. With Pyrrha he was limited by having to ensure the survival of someone without any survival skills or training in combat without Aura. A more cautious approach was needed.

They would head North, gain some distance between them and their site of arrival before turning West, heading through Monument Valley proper to continue Northwest to Zion. From Zion he could devise a means of heading South to Big MT.

The Courier continued at his pace, unrelenting. There could very well be an entire Cohort out there, wondering what had happened to the patrol he had slaughtered. It was two hours later when the sun began to set that the Courier realized he needed some more immediate plans.

The wind was starting to pick up. This was not good. While ordinarily this would have been helpful in that it would prevent any effective pursuit from the Legion, the fact that he was not alone complicated things. He needed to devise a solution quickly else there stood a good chance his partner would not survive the coming storm.

Night was falling and a sandstorm-he checked his Pip-Boy and corrected himself- _radstorm_ was incoming. Great. Just great. Another thing to kill Pyrrha. As if keeping her alive wasn't going to be hard enough already. Now radiation was going to be an issue. Pyrrha had been unusually (and unhealthily) quiet and vacant since they had set off North. He however did not have time to deal with that. It was of a lower priority than avoiding the Legion. And now surviving the incoming radstorm was top priority. Once again the Courier looked for cover. A shallow defile had formed against the leeward side of another shale formation, this one surrounded by a few dead shrubs and still living tumbleweeds.

The Courier changed direction, catching Pyrrha as she nearly fell and still dragging her forward, now towards the cover he had decided upon. By now massive rolling clouds of sand had appeared on the horizon, silhouetted by the setting sun.

Once behind the rock, Markus realized that this was not going to be enough. He could still feel the armor he wore getting pelted by sand despite the fact that there was a massive rock facing the direction of the sandstorm. Ideally it would be preferable to have Pyrrha in the Elite Riot Gear he highly doubted it would fit her given the height difference between the two of them. While it was ordinarily not that significant, the rigidity of the armor meant that it was effectively only usable of someone very close to his height. There was something he could do though.

Markus materialized his Courier Duster and tossed the Duster to Pyrrha.

"Cover yourself with this and face the rock. I'll try and figure something out."

He turned back without waiting for a response. He needed to figure something out, and fast. He needed to figure out some way to protect the two of them both from the radstorm as well as from being stumbled upon by Legion patrols. He wouldn't put it past Legion commanders to order their men out into a radstorm in order to hunt profligates.

He had not means of doing so though. He had no tools other than his hands to make some kind of cover from. Then, he had a rather unconventional idea for creating concealment for himself and his partner.

The Courier materialized a couple containers of Alien Epoxy. Using the material as adhesive, he used it to form sand into walls that enclosed and covered the defile. It was slow work with a radstorm bearing down on them, but overall it done in a matter of minutes.

Now that they were enclosed and safe from the pelting of the storm, the Courier could breath a sigh of relief. It was totally dark and almost totally silent in the small space. The only sounds were the patterning of the sand against the walls and the harsh gusting of the wind. Markus realized there was one more thing he had to do: deal with Pyrrha. With no small amount of hesitance, he turned on his Pip-Boy light and was greeted by the forlorn and haunted face of his partner looking back at him, tears brimming in her eyes.


	94. Chapter 94 - Prussian Blue

Chapter 94 - Prussian Blue

The two stared at each other for an indeterminable length of time. Pyrrha's eyes met nothing but the cold lenses of a gas mask. Moments later, the armor disappeared to reveal Markus, back in his white checkered suit. When Pyrrha's pain-filled eyes met those of her partner, she was surprised to find they mirrored her own emotions, not just in an empathetic sense, but also in a personal one. There was pain, but also a kind of resignation that came with cynicism. The moment was shattered abruptly by movement.

Markus lifted his arm to look at the display on his Pip-Boy, causing all the shadows in the room to shift violently. He tapped something and materialized a bottle before handing it to Pyrrha. Pyrrha took it reflexively, the decision to do so never making it to her brain. The label read _Aqua Pura_. Idly, she wondered what that meant.

It was only after being handed the water that Pyrrha realized just how dehydrated she was. It had been about three hours since the two of them had arrived on this planet. Through the entirety of that time Pyrrha was here, she had always been too busy with one thing or another to pay much attention to how she felt physically. The closest she had gotten was her visceral reaction to the… Another thing to try to forget.

But now that everything had stopped, she felt the full force of everything that she had put her body through. A wide assortment of her muscles ached, both from her duel on the tower and the forced-march through the badlands. She, and all her clothing were covered in a fine sand. While a large portion of it fell off upon touch, some remained caked on. The condition of her outfit looked nearly as bad as she felt. Idly she noticed her tiara wasn't with her. It must have fallen off at some point, probably before they ended up here. Ordinarily she would have been saddened, or at least annoyed by its loss, but now she felt nothing but ambivalence. It was merely a piece of clothing after all.

Speaking of clothing, her current outfit was not doing the job. It wasn't designed for this. On Remnant, clothing had no real effect when Aura was involved. Here, her shoulders were already red from the harsh rays of the sun. In Vale the sun was nowhere near intense enough for sunburn to be an issue most days of the year nor was it a problem in Mistral. Her shoes were even even larger issue. While she been capable of even the most intricate maneuvers in them while using Aura, now she struggled simply walking over the soft sands of the desert. She needed to find something that was better suited for trekking through badlands.

She looked at the duster that Markus had given to cover herself with during the sandstorm. It was on the ground to her left, front down. On its back Pyrrha could see a strange symbol painted on it, rather crudely. A yellow two headed bear was facing a red star. The image was underscored by a thick red bar. Pyrrha wondered what it meant, and how Markus ended up with it. Just another one to add to her long list of questions. But before Pyrrha could start her barrage of questions, she was thrown off by one being asked of her.

"How are you feeling right now?"

Pyrrha gave her partner a look that conveyed both how she felt and how ridiculous a question that was.

"Physically, I mean."

"I'm fine," she said sullenly.

"Don't give me that. I need to know if _anything_ at all feels off. Any problems with your calf? Headache? Nausea?"

"My leg is fine," Pyrrha realized her calf was still covered in dried blood, "I might have a bit of the last two, but that shouldn't be surprising considering recent events?"

But Markus was having none of it. Instantly he stood up and put the back of his hand against her forehead. She knew what he was doing, _checking for fever_. Pyrrha knew she was fine however. He was overreacting massively. Physically she was totally fine. It was in her mind where the problems lay.

The Courier was panicking slightly. Nausea? Check. Headache? Check. Fever? That's a check. While these were fairly common symptoms of various illnesses, they were also the first symptoms of radiation poisoning. A "pure human" (as the Enclave called them) such as Pyrrha had less inborn resistance to the stuff than those born in the wastes. With Pyrrha having lived her entire life on an entirely different planet that had never known atomic war, she was likely incredibly susceptible to the condition.

This combined with the fact that they had been stuck out in a radstorm for a few minutes, as well as the fact that while the storm still raged outside his Pip-Boy told him that rads were still higher than usual, meant that Pyrrha had likely been subjected to a higher dose of grays than she could safely tolerate.

He materialized two bottles. One of Aqua Pura and one of Rad-X. He handed them to Pyrrha.

"Here, take these."

Like before she accepted the bottles. But this time, she asked questions.

"What is it?"

"Anti-radiation medicine, but that's not important right now. What _is_ important is that you take those before you start bleeding from somewhere particularly gruesome."

The second part may have been a bit excessive, but a healthy fear of radiation would help Pyrrha adjust.

"How many should I take?"

"Let's see… I think about four every eight hours should do it."

Pyrrha dutifully downed four of the capsules. There was still one more concern to be addressed.

Markus crawled around the dome until he was on Pyrrha's right side. The shadows flickered as he moved.

"What now?" she asked, her voice betraying her exhaustion.

"One last thing. Those pills will protect you from radiation. However your body has already absorbed enough of it that you are experiencing the effects of radiation poisoning. There is only one way reverse this." The Courier materialized a RadAway. "This is an IV bag that will allow your body to purge itself of the radioactive particles, okay?"

Pyrrha nodded. The Courier prepped the needle.

"You might want to look away."

Pyrrha looked to her left, staring off at the wall of their cover and the rough Alien Epoxy that held it together. Markus extended Pyrrha's arm, poured a small amount of Vodka over it. Pyrrha jerked her arm slightly at the impact of the liquid.

"Hold still. This has all kind of nasty side effects if applied incorrectly."

She relaxed her arm again. Markus now shone his Pip-Boy light directly onto her arm, searching for a vein. Her skin was quite light, making the process easy enough.

"Now I'm going to need you to relax, this is easiest," the Courier inserted the needle, "when you are relaxed."

By inserting the needle while he was talking he made sure Pyrrha would not subconsciously tense in anticipation. There was something about the sight of Pyrrha's blood running down her arm that unsettled him, though he wasn't sure what it was. He had seen torrents of her blood rushing from her body earlier today. But there was something about that single rivulet of blood flowing down her arm that seemed wrong. He wasn't sure what it was.

The two of them remained in the same position for a few minutes. Both were still as statues, hearing only the breathing of the other and the roaring of the wind outside. At long last the Courier removed the needle, the RadAway almost half depleted. Pyrrha breathed a sigh of relief. Markus sat back against the wall of the defile next to Pyrrha facing off in the same direction she was. He broke the silence.

"You should try to sleep."

He could sense Pyrrha turning her head to look at him, but made no move to respond in kind, simply staring at the sand across from them. She turned her head back to front and closed her eyes, her head resting against his shoulder. Only now did Markus look at her, and only briefly before turning back. His only thought was that she should not be here. She didn't deserve to end up in a place as merciless and bloody as this. No one did, but especially not someone as innocent and honest as Pyrrha. Well, it was too late for that now. The only thing he could do now was help her survive this hell she had fallen into.

As Pyrrha's breathing started to become slower and more regular, the Courier slowly and carefully raised his Pip-Boy and looked at its Geiger Counter. The Rads remained steady. Hopefully this storm would die down by morning. They couldn't stay here forever.


	95. Chapter 95 - The Burden of Truth

Chapter 95 - The Burden of Truth

Pyrrha found no refuge from the terrors that plagued her waking life in sleep. For to sleep perchance to dream. And for her, dreams meant nightmares.

 _Pyrrha was back at Beacon. She was looking up. Pyrrha was not a lucid dreamer, thus she was a passive observer, unable to influence the events she would witness, nor choose what she witnessed. The sky was multicolored but was dark: twilight. Her eyes followed a single multicolored leaf as it fell lazily to the ground, passing in front of the soaring arches of Beacon. As the leaf reached the flat angle in front of her, she lost sight of it a focused on a sight further in the distance. Pyrrha felt panic rise in her chest. It was Markus. But not as he normally was. He was as she had made him. Limbs bent in places where there were no joints. An eye bleeding. A mix of metal and bone protruding in various places. Blood streaming from a dozen wounds. And he was walking towards her. A slow, but inevitable sort of shuffle._

 _She desperately wanted to run away, close her eyes, but she couldn't. She was a hostage to her dream and had no agency. All she could do is wait, transfixed._

 _A horrific and false smile appeared on his face._

" _You trusted me. I trusted you."_

 _Then, she was back in the Vytal Arena. Penny was before her. Slowly she was cut into pieces by her cords. Time slowed down as Pyrrha watched the expression on Penny's face. Pyrrha had not thought she could have been more horrified but she was. As the life faded from the eyes of Penny's dismembered head, Pyrrha was hit by a crashing wave of crushing guilt._

 _Just when Pyrrha felt she was at her lowest, at her breaking point, she found herself in the desert. She knew this because this time she started by looking at the ground. Looking up she saw a familiar landscape. A small distance in front of her, she saw a familiar rock formation. At its feet were three distinct shapes. She started walking towards it. She desperately wanted not to, but was helpless._

 _As she got closer and closer to the bodies more and more gruesome detail became visible. She was forced to look at the shattered bone and splattered brain. This time, unlike in reality, she was walked closer to the bodies. She could see the blood flowing past her. She looked down. The eyes of the bodies met hers and lunged for her._

Pyrrha woke with her heart pounding. She straighten herself from where she had been leaning against Markus. She glanced at her partner, seeing he was awake and looking at his Pip-Boy before turning back to stare ahead. There was one thought burning in her mind.

"You killed them…"

Pyrrha remained facing forwards. Her voice was unsteady.

"Yes. Yes I did."

His voice was unusually soft.

"Why?"

Her voice was wavering.

"I won't tell you I had no choice. There is always a choice. But I can tell you there were no better options or better outcomes."

"We could have-"

"They found our tracks. Would waiting for them to have come closer helped? They would have had to die anyway. We don't have any means of subduing them non-lethally."

But the horrible images remained behind Pyrrha's vision. Her mind revolted against the idea that _that_ was ever the best option.

"Does it help if I tell you they deserved it?"

It did, but only to a degree. The images burned into Pyrrha's mind were to horrific for her to say anyone deserved that fate.

"You don't have the right to say who deserves to die," Pyrrha said her voice remained uncertain. But she had full conviction of this fact. Doing _that_ to a person was not something that could be done on a whim.

"I have as much right as anyone else here. Perhaps it may have been true on Remnant that I had no rights to make that decision. But here, here there are no courts that have jurisdiction on these matters."

Finally, Pyrrha looked at him. She now sounded on the edge of crying.

"I want you to explain everything."

He let out a sigh.

"This may take a while, but it's probably for the best. Hopefully you'll handle all this better if you understand what's going on. I won't tell you literally everything right now, but give you an overview of where we are, what's going on, and what this place is, okay?"

His voice was stronger now, but eerily neutral. He turned to her and made eye contact unwaveringly.

"Alright," said Pyrrha, with no small amount of trepidation. As much as she wanted to know the truth, she feared what it might be.

"Everything you know about my past is a lie."

Pyrrha broke eye contact. Well, she had suspected he had been keeping secrets. This revelation was one that she was braced for. It explained some things, but also created far more questions.

"So what's the truth?"

"I was born on this planet. I arrived on Remnant just before the start of the year at Beacon."

While this raised a whole lot more questions and Pyrrha had to make a willful effort to remain calm, she asked a simple question that could be answered easily and would provide her with more practical information than for asking for information regarding his past.

"How did you get from here to Remnant?"

"This thing," Markus materialized the object he had been holding prior to their arrival, "was supposed to take me from one end of the continent to the other. Instead, it got hit by a high powered energy beam, malfunctioned, and I ended up on Remnant."

Alright. Some concrete answers. It was a good start to at some point understanding what was going on.

"So your father doesn't own a company called Vault-Tec?"

"My father is dead."

A chill crept into his voice as he said that, but disappeared as soon as it arrived.

"Vault-Tec however, very much does exist. The original company that manufactured my Pip-Boy was based here, and no longer exists. The one on Remnant was created by myself, specifically to explain how I had the things I have and create a cover identity while I was stuck there."

"But why something so high-profile?"

It seemed to Pyrrha that there were easier identities to assume.

"I wanted to get back; _that_ was my top priority. I knew I was going to need to, at best repair, and at worst reengineer this device. That was something that required a lot of resources and specialized equipment."

"Couldn't you just have explained the situation?"

While Pyrrha realized the sentiment sounded a bit naive, to her it made more sense than an elaborate plot to fake a company then actually making one.

"And who would have believed me? Besides, I knew virtually nothing about the situation and didn't trust anyone, especially not the government. In fact, I still don't quite trust them."

"So what is this place, this world?"

This was a more broad question, the information that Pyrrha most needed to contextualize everything that had happened.

"This world is simply called Earth. There are no Grimm, there is not Dust, and it was destroyed two hundred years ago."

"Destroyed?"

To Pyrrha the world seemed pretty not destroyed. Its deserts looked similar enough to those of Vacuo.

"Without the external threat of Grimm, mankind made enemies of themselves. Weapons were created. Weapons of mass destruction. Nations stockpiled them, and in desperation, used them. Virtually all society collapsed. Billions died in minutes. Since, efforts to rebuild have begun, but this is world is still mostly dead. Many of this world's inhabitants will kill you on sight. Even still, various factions fight each other for supremacy."

"And this is where you lived until less than a year ago?"

"Yup."

Pyrrha found the idea incomprehensible. Living in a destroyed world. Growing up with everything in ruins, on the ashes of billions. Factions squabbling over the ruins. Pyrrha realized that despite how much time she had spent with Markus, she could not comprehend his perspective. Such a difference in experience made it virtually impossible. It also explained him in his entirety. Why he acted like he did. Why he was jumpy. Why he was so pessimistic. Why he was so capable in combat. Why he was so militaristic. It was because he was from a world that had been burned. From a world destroyed by war. This realization lead to another question.

"What did you do here?"

"I solved problems."

"Like a Huntsman?"

The idea that Markus acted like this world's equivalent of a Huntsman made sense to Pyrrha.

"Problems are different here. Less simple. The solutions are far less elegant."

"What do you mean?"

"Solving problems means killing people."

Pyrrha was about to say something, she wasn't sure what, likely a knee jerk reaction to the information that her partner had killed regularly, but she was cut off.

"I know what you're about to say. I do make every effort to resolve things diplomatically, with a degree of surprising degree of success, but the truth is that there are many people who are not willing to negotiate. They will try to kill you the second they see you. So," the last sentence was spoken in a whisper, in an uncertain and weak voice that Pyrrha had never heard from her partner before, "I kill people."

Pyrrha didn't respond, She kept staring into the wall with dead eyes, in a state of shock and uncertainty. A minute of silence passed. It was shattered by a sentence from Pyrrha, a short thing of merely two words, spoken in the barest whisper,

"How many?"

Her partner just shook his head slightly, looking at the floor.

"Too many."

His voice was even quieter and less certain than hers

" _How many?_ "

He showed her his Pip-Boy and Pyrrha felt a sinking feeling in her stomach as the bottom dropped out of her world.


	96. Chapter 96 - Perspective

Chapter 96 - Perspective

* * *

The Courier did not need to look at his Pip-Boy to know the number. One thousand, three hundred and forty two. One thousand, three hundred and forty two people he had personally killed. The number whose deaths he was responsible for indirectly was both unknowable and incalculable. He knew there were hundreds he had failed to save. And the Divide. Thousands had died there. Because he had brought a package there. But Pyrrha didn't know that yet. So far all she knew was the number on his Pip-Boy. All he could do was wait for her reaction.

She looked at him. The look in her eyes was unmistakable, one of shock, terror, and horror. Tears brimmed there.

Markus broke eye contact, looking at the ground, trying to harden his heart. This had been a bad idea. He should have just concocted some other lie about where they were. He had no reason to expect she would not react how she did. It wasn't like he wasn't equally horrified and disgusted with himself for the things he had done, the blood on his hands.

Still, her opinion should not have mattered to him in the slightest. Pyrrha was someone he only met by chance and had been stuck with by that same chance. He had not chosen her. He had not made some judgement about her character before choosing her as a partner. He had not even subjected her to the very basic vetting he had done for each of his companions.

And yet it hurt, and in ways it shouldn't have been able to. The external validation of his self-loathing brought the emotions he had suppressed to the forefront. He had thought himself secure from this kind of thing. He had believed his obsessive focus on fighting the Good Fight would allow him to maintain a cold indifference that would insulate him from...well whatever it was this was.

The Courier reverted to his standard operating procedure: choose an objective, pursue it relentlessly. He focussed on what he needed to do now.

"We should leave."

His tone was utterly dead.

He got up into a crouch before putting his hand against the alien epoxy roof ceiling of the defile. He pushed, and the structure shattered into a few large, thin pieces a layer of accumulated sand that had been deposited by the storm fell onto the two of them. Daylight suddenly blasted into the previously dark location, assaulting the eyes of the pair. The Courier switched to his Elite Riot Gear. Walking around in a suit was not something he liked, especially not with the Legion around.

Speaking of the Legion, the light of day revealed just how timely that radstorm had been. Tracks marred the sand in a wide column, indicative of a large force on the march. The Cohort was heading West. An ominous sign if ever there was one. Pyrrha had stood up to his left and was dusting the sand off herself. He didn't face her and thus couldn't see her face. He did notice that she was wearing the Courier Duster and held the M14. She at least looked more prepared for the wastes.

Then, he saw them. Legionnaires lying on the ground, all with varying degrees of stillness. What they all had in common was a large amount of red surrounding them. None were particularly close, but the Courier knew what they were. The Legion had marched their forces through a radstorm. Whether that had been done in an effort to find him and Pyrrha or due to some other factor was debatable. The Legion had little regard for the well-being of its members as evidenced by the flayed Legionnaires currently vomiting blood from radiation poisoning.

He knew he the kindest thing to do would be to put them out of their misery but he also knew that Pyrrha would react badly. The question he had to ask himself was whether or not he cared.

The Courier turned North and started to walk that way.

"Let's go."

He retained the lifeless tone.

They began their long march North.

The Courier drank a bottle of whiskey.

Half an hour passed. In total silence.

For the first time since the Courier had told her the truth, Pyrrha spoke.

"Where are we going?"

Her voice was hesitant. She was shaken. Almost fearful.

But she was talking.

"We are going North, to Zion. There are tribes there that oppose the Legion. From there we can plan out a way to go back South, to Big MT, where we can figure out how to get back."

The Courier still did not face her and continued forwards. He could still tell that she was not having any easy time with this march through the wastes. Getting Pyrrha proper footwear should increase their pace. As it was, he was unlikely to have much of an opportunity to acquire any.

"Was that the Legion? The ones that were…" Her voice just trailed off.

"Yes. That was the Legion. 'Caesar's Legion' they call themselves."

The Courier idly wondered whether they still called themselves that now that Caesar and essentially his entire line of succession was dead. He knew someone was giving orders, but he had no idea whether history would repeat itself and Caesar would become a title rather than a name.

"Who are they?"

"An army of slaves, forged from the conquest of eight-six tribes. Autocratic, collectivist, and traditionalist, they aim to conquer the world, stamping out individualism as they do so. They make up about a third of the number."

* * *

It took Pyrrha a second to register and comprehend the last sentence. She had been shaken deeply by the vast amount of revelations that had been thrust upon her. She had been forced to realize that not only did she not know at all know the person who she had thought was her best friend, he was literally an alien. But none of that disturbed her as much as the sheer amount of people that he had _killed_. The idea that anyone she knew had killed another person would have been incomprehensible mere days ago. Now, to learn that Markus had killed nearly fifteen-hundred people was shattering to her.

And this was on top of everything else. She still didn't quite understand what was going on. Only that some people called the Legion wanted both of them dead and they were heading to a place called Zion that would apparently help the two of them get back to Remnant. And Markus had killed nearly five hundred members of this Legion.

"Why?"

The word was almost forced out of Pyrrha. Even to her, it was a sad, helpless, pathetic thing reflective of her current state. This whole thing felt like some kind of warped nightmare. Reality seemed stranger than a fever dream.

"You're going to need to be a little more specific."

Markus' voice was more natural, with his familiar sarcasm returned. It oddly comforted Pyrrha. It reassured her that despite the fact she knew virtually nothing of his past, his personality remained the same.

But his statement was accurate. She needed to decide what specifically she wanted to know. Pulling herself together, she asked the biggest question.

"Why did you kill so many people?"

It was truly an unheard of number of people for a single person to kill.

"Two wars helped pad the numbers out."

Wars. That made more sense. While even for someone who fought in two wars, the number was ridiculously high, Pyrrha could somewhat rationalize that her partner was not a monster.

"Wars? Who were you at war with?"

"The Legion."

Considering that he had killed three of their number, Pyrrha felt a bit silly. It seemed fairly obvious.

"Why were you at war with them?"

Markus was really young to have fought in two wars. He must have had a really good reason to have gone off to fight so young.

"You see Pyrrha, I was on my way to a city, New Vegas, I entered a town called Nipton…"


	97. Chapter 97 - The Messenger

Chapter 97 - The Messenger

"I had noticed something was wrong long before I had arrived. Plumes of dark smoke had been visible for miles before I had arrived. I had expected the usual, an attack by raiders or feral ghouls, one of the typical skirmishes that ravaged settlements. This, was not that. What I found…"

The Courier voice trailed off before he began again.

"The town was utterly razed," he said with a tone of finality. He continued nonetheless.

"The Legion remained there. Not knowing virtually anything about them, and their not being overtly hostile, I approached them. The leader of their group spoke to me; "Vulpes Inculta" he called himself."

Pyrrha could hear the undisguised contempt in Markus' voice as he said the name. While as of now she could only guess why, she felt she was about to find out.

"He made it very clear the Legion had destroyed Nipton. Slaughtered the citizens. Butchered, burned, and crucified, one by one, all in front of the others."

"Why would anyone do something like that?"

Pyrrha could not comprehend something like this. This degree of human cruelty was something that simply did not fit into her worldview. The concept of such savagery and brutality for such senseless reasons, in fact for any reason at all was beyond the scope of her understanding.

"He said the citizens had been disloyal, a town of dissolute whores he called it. He said it was about sending a message."

The simple mental image of this atrocity and the knowledge that it had happened were terrible enough. Pyrrha could not imagine witnessing it first hand.

"What kind of messages could the slaughter of innocent people send?"

She simply couldn't understand the purpose of such inhuman cruelty. What the murder and torturous execution of an entire town of people could accomplish or how it could ever be justified.

"That the Legion are strong, and that nowhere and no one is safe from them. A message of fear."

Pyrrha shivered at that. The actions, in the context of spreading fear made sense. Unnerving horror certainly achieved that. These people were monsters, but not mindless. The things they did had a purpose, and that made them all the more terrifying.

But fear and revulsion were not the only emotions Pyrrha felt. She also felt a sort of helpless righteous fury. An impotent desire for justice, for revenge. The idea that the Legion would burn and butcher innocent people with impunity was one that Pyrrha hated with all that remained of her being. It pleased her that even in the state she was in she still had the mental wherewithal to be outraged at evil.

"After he had informed me as to why they had done this, I told him that his crimes here at Nipton were unforgivable.

"He told me that all crimes were unforgivable, and that should I feel strongly about, I should attack them. He seemed confident that their superior numbers made such an action suicidal."

"What did you do?"

"I killed them. All of them. In order to send a message."

Pyrrha felt a form of catharsis upon hearing the news, then immediately felt guilty for it. Pyrrha's moral code revolted against the idea of feeling happiness at the deaths of others. Even if those people were the most deserving of death she had ever heard of. She found, somewhat to her surprise, that she did not put Markus at fault for his course of action. Indeed, she found herself incapable of coming up with any better alternative. While she could not say that she would have done the same in his place, she understood that there were not many options, and no others that prevented this from happening again. But the fact that Markus had killed people to send a message sat wrong with her.

"Didn't you send exactly the same message as they did though?"

"Yes. And that's a good thing. Caesar's Legion should fear what will happen if they do this. The Legion's only concern is military expediency. If razing towns get their soldiers slaughtered, they're less likely to do it."

This was enough justification to satisfy Pyrrha's conscience. In fact the entire conversation had eased her conscience regarding her association and relationship with her partner. The initial horror and revulsion she had felt towards him had been replaced by a wary curiosity. A kind of "wait and see" attitude. It was clear there was a lot she didn't know. She understood why Markus had told her this anecdote. It had provided her with the necessary context as to why Markus would fight a war against the Legion and kill so many of them.

While actually killing people, and so many of them was still beyond her comprehension, she could at least understand the reason why it was the necessary thing to do. This place was very different from Remnant. Yet, she felt that she now understood her partner better. She understood why he had done what he had done. Thinking about it further, she realized that he had acted as she would have imagined he would have reacted. It gave her comfort that despite the fact she was forced to face the fact she knew nothing of his past, she still knew him as a person.

Silence had settled over the pair as they walked. Pyrrha was getting more accustomed to walking over this type of terrain, though it remained painful, both due to the lack of Aura and her choice of footwear, something she was now regretting. The weapon Markus had given weighed heavily in her hands. It was a strange experience as she found herself unable to determine whether the weapon was actually heavy or it simply felt so due to her lack of Aura.

The Duster he had given her was also quite helpful in that it covered her otherwise bare shoulders and upper back from the relentlessly battering of the sun's rays. Thinking of the Duster, Pyrrha remembered the mysterious symbol of the two-headed bear emblazoned on the back of it.

"What does the symbol on the back of this mean?," Pyrrha asked.

Markus didn't even turn to respond.

"It's the flag of the New California Republic, the Legion's greatest enemy, and in many ways their antithesis."

"Why does the bear have two heads?"

"A side effect of the bombs that destroyed the Old World is radiation, an invisible poison that kills nearly anything that gets too high a dosage of it. It also causes mutations. Before The War, the flag of California had a bear with one head. The flag of the NCR has a mutated bear with two."

Pyrrha did not like the idea of an invisible poison that permeated this entire world. She doubled her attention to ensuring she took the pills that Markus had given her as often as he had prescribed them. The fact that there was civilization, and people that opposed people like the Legion raised Pyrrha's hopes immensely. It had begun to feel as though everything in and on this planet wanted them dead in the most horrible ways.

While Pyrrha was by no means out of questions, she eventually came to focus solely on the process of walking.

Silence reigned for hours on end. The pair rarely stopped, and then only to rehydrate. This left Pyrrha enough time to think about all the things that had happened and all the things that she had found out. And that was not necessarily a good thing.

It had all happened so quickly. Less than a week ago, everything had been totally normal. Granted, back on Remnant strange things had been going on, but nothing comparable with this. Her last day on Remnant had been a nightmare made reality. The death of Penny. Of Amber. Of Ozpin. And very nearly of herself.

Pyrrha had accepted death on the top of that tower. The fear she had felt in the at moment and the relief she felt and surviving despite all expectations both simmered in the roiling sea of emotions in her mind, all struggling for supremacy. In a way, the mix of feelings she felt was beneficial to her, in that it prevented any, single one in particular from seizing control of her. She still felt like crying every time she thought of the immediate past. She didn't know how she would deal with this mess she had found herself in. While it was against Pyrrha's nature as a fighter to run away from a fight, she did her very best to avoid thinking back. For now, she would focus on surviving. It was certainly enough to keep her distracted.


	98. Chapter 98 - Absolution

Chapter 98 - Absolution

It was the first time Pyrrha had seen the night sky of this new planet. The previous night had been spent sheltering in a ditch while a deadly storm raged outside. Now, everything was different. The wind was present, but inaudible. Markus had insisted they halt once the sun set on account of her difficulty navigating the terrain. It was bad enough in daylight, but he feared that she might hurt herself attempting to do so in darkness.

While Pyrrha did not like how helplessly weak she was, to the point that walking was difficult, she was quietly relieved. Beyond the difficulty from a technical standpoint of walking over uneven terrain, Pyrrha had not realized how physically exhausting walking all day was without Aura. The fact that she had done as much as she had was a testament to her endurance.  
She now sat on the desert floor across from her partner. He back in his checkered suit, fiddling with his Pip-Boy, which was currently the only source of illumination other than the night sky, not looking at her or making any effort to speak to her. The two of them hadn't really had any proper conversation in hours. The only speech had been Markus giving her very short instructions. Now, while Pyrrha was no means good at reading people, he seemed to be avoiding interacting with her. No eye contact, no conversation.

He was acting differently. His entire demeanor had changed since the last night when he had told her everything. Well not exactly everything, but enough. Enough for Pyrrha to process at one time. She had no doubt there was more to find out, but she did her very best not to think about that for fear of panicking.

She had never seen him like this before. His tone and body language seemed uncharacteristic of the person she knew. He was cold now, though that was not unusual nor uncharacteristic, but it felt like he was holding her at arm's length, which was peculiar, considering now she knew his secrets whereas before he was hiding things from her. Now he felt, hesitant, unsure. None of this really made much sense to Pyrrha. She wasn't very good with people, and even worse at reading them, and yet still worse at deciphering them. She wasn't sure what anything meant or what was actually going on with Markus, but she knew it had something to do with her. _"Great,"_ she thought bitterly, _"As if things weren't complicated enough."_ Now she had no idea where she stood with Markus, her only lifeline in this world. And if there was one thing she knew, it was that she needed him. He was essentially the only thing that allowed her to retain her sanity in this messed up situation. Despite everything that had happened, everything that she had found out, and everything that had happened between them, he was still her partner, and the only thing that stood between her and the cruel world that surrounded her.

Pyrrha trusted her partner completely. He had saved her life in the most direct way possible after all. She did not like how much she depended on him though. It went very much against her character and ethos to be totally dependent. She was his _partner_ after all, not his charge. He shouldn't have to protect her. Her ability and strength had been fundamental to her identity. THey had become an integral part of her over the years. Now, with everything else gone too, she noticed their loss most keenly. In this world, with no Aura, she was weak.

Weak enough that it scared her. As she looked up at stars she knew to be alien, Pyrrha understood she was stuck on a world hostile enough to be out of a nightmare and she was literally magnitudes weaker than she had ever been. She was totally helpless.

Pyrrha looked down and the weapon that lay on the ground next to her. Despite the fact that she was armed, she still felt as vulnerable as if she wasn't. If there was one thing she had learned, it was that this place was kill or be killed. And she didn't think she would be able to kill. While the weapon, she believed Markus had referred it as "M14", was in fact quite similar to Miló she did not believe she would be able to use it. Not out of any technical considerations, though she did foresee difficulty managing the recoil without Aura, but due to the simple fact that she had no confidence in being able to pull the trigger when it mattered.

Pyrrha was not so pretentious as to prescribe this unwillingness to kill even to save herself as a moral decision. She knew it needed to be done, as it was Markus would have to do it for her. And she would not assign him any moral blame for killing them. That would have been hypocritical. Pyrrha prescribed her unwillingness to pull the trigger to simply cowardice. She felt she was simply too afraid to take responsibility and do what absolutely needed to be done.

So on top of everything else, this gave Pyrrha the wretched feeling of being not only physically weak, but also mentally so. Pyrrha looked at her partner and asked a question.

"Markus…" he looked up, making eye contact, "What is killing like?"

He broke eye contact, his eyes now look too her right and past her, to some indeterminable point on the horizon.

"What do you mean?"

His voice was quiet, but neutral. Pyrrha couldn't read it.

"How does it...feel?"

There was a period of silence.

"The Burned Man once told me, 'I don't enjoy killing, but when done righteously, it's just a chore, like any other.' To an extent, that is true. But there is something beyond that. The act of taking someone's life…"

He trailed off, seemingly unable to articulate exactly what it was.

Pyrrha noted the way he said "The Burned Man", as if he was an individual of significance. It was an ominous title.

Overall his answer had done little to assuage her fears. It was that 'something', that undefinable thing about killing that Pyrrha feared.

Thinking about the prospect of having to kill someone, or likely multiple people, Pyrrha was forced to the realization that she technically knew what it felt like to kill someone.

Tears brimmed in her eyes as she thought about what she had done to Penny. She didn't know what had happened. She had no idea that Penny was a robot. In fact that made no sense to her. And that had been the second time her semblance had had disastrous results on an innocent person. Penny was dead because of her. Regardless of whether or not Penny was human, she was certainly alive, and certainly had a soul. And now, because of her, she was dead. Pyrrha judged herself more harshly for killing a single person than she did her partner for killing nearly fourteen-hundred people. It was because she did not have the excuse that it was in a war, or that they deserved death. Pyrrha knew she had murdered an innocent person. The fact that she had not intended it to happen was not relevant. She had killed Penny. Her death was her fault. The tears began to flow freely now. Between the two of them, Pyrrha was far more disgusted with herself than the sheer volume of blood on the hands of her partner.

"Pyrrha?" his voice was uncertain, "What's wrong?"

Pyrrha only managed one word, in the most broken voice possible.

"Penny…"

As the sobs worsened, her partner walked over to her and enveloped her in a hesitant hug.

"It's not your fault," he said in a soothing voice.

It didn't help her because it was a lie.

"It is my fault. I ki-killed her."

"Pyrrha you were set up."

Markus' voice had become less comforting and more serious.

"The woman in Red and her associates hacked Atlas. They knew your semblance, and they knew what Penny was. They planned all of it."

Pyrrha couldn't quite believe it, while Penny was still dead, and by her hand, it offered her an escape from the blame.

"How-How do you know?"

"They're not the only ones who hacked Atlas."

If Pyrrha didn't know better, she might have thought Makrus sounded smug. While she was still crying, she was no longer full on sobbing.

"You hacked Atlas?"

"I hacked everyone. I needed my identity to be foolproof."

It made sense that setting up a false identity like the one that Markus had would require hacking a lot of people, but Pyrrha was surprised that Markus possessed the ability to do so.

"How do you know that they did this?"

While the idea that Penny's fate was the result of the machinations of the enemy was appealing, Pyrrha needed more than speculation to ease her conscience.

"Because I made sure the tournament matchmaker would not match you and Penny."

And there it was. All Pyrrha needed to pass the blame of Penny's fate on to the woman in Red. That didn't stop the tears. Emotionally, Pyrrha was utterly drained. Once the tears stopped, Markus told her to get some sleep. She was going to need it in the coming days.


	99. Chapter 99 - Legends And Fairy Tales

Chapter 99 - Legends And Fairy Tales

As the pair trudged through the endless desert, heading West, towards Zion, this time it was the thought of the Lone Courier that strayed from the moment.

The Courier actually found it nice to be back in the familiarity of the Mojave. It was not that he had any affection for the brutality and harshness of the wasteland, nor for spending endless hours walking through a desert. It was rather that here he had a clearly defined objective

While he had no doubt that Remnant was a far nicer place, the persona he was forced to maintain every waking moment was draining and felt unnatural. With the constant formality and suit-wearing he felt like he had been at a White Glove society function for months on end.

Even if Pyrrha knew virtually nothing, it was liberating to be able to speak honestly with someone, anyone after months of playing a role. Even if she ended up hating him for it.

Markus resolved to at some point get some answers as to what had happened at Beacon since he had been gone. Perhaps he could piece together what exactly had gone so very wrong. And find out what secrets Pyrrha was keeping. The Courier knew there was nothing that he could afford not to know. Especially with the power his enemies had been shown to wield. He realized that the events that had occurred during the Battle of Beacon were, in some ways, this enemy's version of Nipton. They spread fear, a showed that nowhere was safe. The question was, whether or not it had any greater strategic importance.

That was the other problem. Yet another reason it was absolutely awful for him to be stuck here. He had no idea as to the significance of the Battle of Beacon and what actually ended up happening. As it was, every moment he was not was one in which his enemies could act unopposed. He needed to be on Remnant. But first, he would need to see what Pyrrha knew. That would not be an easy subject to broach.

It was only once they had stopped for the day that the Courier decided to finally ask Pyrrha what had happened. They were once again sitting across from one another, though this time they had found an outcropping to shelter beneath.

"Pyrrha?"

"Hmm?"

"I know you probably don't want to think about these things, but there are some things that I don't quite understand about things that happened on Remnant."

He waited for her response with a degree of trepidation. He was not sure where the two of them stood. While he was normally highly adept at reading people, Pyrrha was now an enigma. There was no telling what exactly she was thinking, or how she felt about him now that she knew the most damning part of the truth.

"Like what?" she asked, with a characteristic degree of obliviousness.

Markus had to suppress a smile. It was not happiness exactly, but more relief. He had drastically over thought the entire thing. Not that Pyrrha was not traumatized by what she had experienced, but that right now she was focused on more worldly concerns. He felt a bit bad for ruining her mood, but as usual, he put the cause above any individual.

"I'm not sure if you know this already, but you've been to this planet before," Pyrrha nodded and replied,

"Yeah, I recognized the moon."

Markus nodded in acknowledgement and said,

"Now I'm not entirely clear on the sequence of events that led to that happening. It would be very helpful if you could explain exactly what happened there."

Markus questioned her gingerly. His degree of caution was vindicated when she immediately stiffened upon his mention of the "sequence of events." Considering what she had witnessed in the course of said events it was hardly a surprise that she was less than keen to think on them.

But, after a moment she visibly deflated, her wide eyed visage replaced with one of dejection.

"Now I owe _you_ some answers don't I? After all, despite everything it's not like you did… _that_ to me."

Pyrrha's voice betrayed a degree of self loathing that Markus was entirely surprised to hear. Immediately it hit him, and he felt like an idiot for not realizing it sooner. She blamed herself for hurting him.

It took only the barest amount of empathy for the Courier to understand her position. He knew that if the roles had been reversed he would never have forgiven himself. That said, he was used to judging himself by far harsher standards than he would apply to others and that he would never dream others would apply to themselves. Yet, Pyrrha, quite logically blamed herself for nearly killing him.

Markus had to be honest. The entire experience had been incredibly painful and terrifying. It also rivaled Project Purity for the closest he had come to death.

Thus, understanding why Pyrrha felt like she did about herself and the events that had occurred, the Courier was at a loss of how to comfort her.

"Don't worry about it too much Pyrrha. I'm totally fine. I have a long medical history of being shot, stabbed, burned, and irradiated."

The Courier wanted to say he'd had worse, but that would have been an absolute lie. He was doing his best to break the habit of lying to Pyrrha. He'd quite like for her to trust him, and lying was hardly the best way to accomplish that.

Pyrrha made a noise of acknowledgement that was hardly reassuring. Abandoning the idea of trying to make Pyrrha feel better about literally tearing him apart, he moved on swiftly.

"So let's take this from the beginning. After the whole 'Yang Incident,' you seemed very down. Enough that I decided to see what was wrong. You told me some very vague things that from my perspective didn't really make much sense."

He was watching Pyrrha as he recounted the very recent events that must have seemed to her like distant memories.

"So what was that all about?"

He asked the question.

"I'm-I'm not actually supposed to tell anyone. It was supposed to be top secret."

"As secret as all this?" Markus gestured towards the wasteland, half joking.

"As secret as all this," Pyrrha said gravely seriously.

"Whose secret is it?"

"Professor Ozpin, Professor Goodwitch, General Ironwood, and a man named Qrow."

"I know you're not supposed to tell me, but considering the circumstances, it could hardly do any harm."

Pyrrha hesitated for a moment, as if unsure of what she was going to do next. Then, she spoke, looking up but not making eye contact. Markus say the thousand yard stare with visible concern.

"Have you ever heard the fairy tale, ' _The Story of the Seasons_?'"

Markus shook his head. Pyrrha took a deep breath and began, in a highly bitter a cynical voice that Markus had never heard from her.

"A bitter old man, who refused to leave his home, was visited by four traveling sisters. The first understood his reclusive nature and urged him to use his time in solitude to reflect and meditate. The second brought him fruits and flowers, tended to his crops and revitalized his garden. The third warmed the man's heart, convinced him to step outside and embrace the world around him. And the fourth and final sister begged him to look at all that he had, and be thankful. As a reward for their kindness, the man granted the maidens incredible powers, so that they could continue to help others all over the world. They graciously accepted, and promised to share their gifts with the people of Remnant 'til the end of days. Winter, Spring, Summer, and Fall; the four maidens."

Markus was seriously concerned for Pyrrha. This level of bitterness was uncharacteristic of her. It worried him because he had no idea why. Both why she was bitter and why she had told him this story. To him it seemed to be nothing more than an explanation for the seasons for children. Idly, he thought it was quite strange that Remnant had the same seasonal patterns as Earth did.

"So what does this have to do with the secret?"

"I was told it was true."

"Oh."

The Courier didn't quite believe it. It was not that he thought Pyrrha was lying to him, rather it was that he had a feeling Pyrrha had been lied to. Seasons were something there was little mystery about and if four highly powerful individuals were present on Remnant, they would have been noticeable. But he didn't say anything of that sort yet.

"So why did this group of high ranking conspirators tell you this?"

"They said I was next in line to receive the Fall Maiden's powers."

"Oh."


	100. Chapter 100 - Tempered

Chapter 100 - Tempered

* * *

"So...ah...what exactly is the power of the Fall Maiden?"

Pyrrha still avoided eye contact.

"Some vaguely defined but extremely powerful magic."

She still sounded more bitter than he would have ever considered possible for her.

Alright. It was magic. And this was coming from the people who found Aura and Semblances to not be magic. And extremely powerful. Extremely powerful magic. Great. That meant a force no one properly understood, other than the fact that it could do a lot of damage.

"And how did _you_ end up next in line to receive this power?"

From what he knew of Pyrrha, there was no reason that she would be involved in this. And from the way she told the events, they had been entirely unexpected for her as well.

"Well, they told me how the power was transferred; a stupid and convoluted system. Whenever a Maiden dies, whichever young woman was in her thoughts at that moment gets the power. If she isn't thinking of anyone, it goes to someone random."

She was right in that it was an arbitrary and poorly designed system. He imagined that a lot of the time some random person would discover they had acquired incredible power literally overnight.

"So how do you come into this? How can you be next in line if the power transfers only when a Maiden dies, and not along any kind of line of succession?"

The idea that the power of the Maiden was passed along via the death of the previous one based on whoever was last in her thoughts made any kind of predictable succession difficult, especially if said Maiden died anything other than a foreseen natural death. Unless these conspirators had reason to believe a Maiden was about to die with Pyrrha in her thoughts there was no reasonable way for them come to the conclusion that Pyrrha would inherit the powers with any kind of immanency.

"I was chosen. The Maiden had been attacked, and part of her power had been taken. They worried that the person last in her thoughts was her attacker. She was kept in a Vault under Beacon, on some kind of life support."

Pyrrha sounded now on the verge of tears.

"Was."

The Courier took notice of his partner's use of the past tense. It implied one of two things had happened to the Maiden, she had either recovered to the point that life support was unnecessary, or she had died.

"Yes."

So it was the latter. Pyrrha's tone made the fate of the Maiden as clear as if she had spelled it out.

"So how did they intend to do this? Stick you in front of her and wake her up?"

"Not exactly. They worried that when she...died, the power would seek out its other half, the idea of it being split was unprecedented and they didn't know how it would react."

"But I imagine they had some solution, else they wouldn't have bothered telling you any of this."

"Right. Atlas had developed some experimental technology that could capture Aura and put it into something or someone else."

"Now correct me if I'm wrong, but I was under the impression that Aura was the Soul."

"That is essentially correct."

"So they wanted to cram someone else's Soul into you."

"Yes."  
"Would that even work? What would that do to someone?"

"I don't know, not even they knew."  
"What. They didn't know what would happen? They never tried this before? And they volunteered you to be their lab rat? They didn't even test it?"

Markus' tone was one of flat disbelief.

"They said desperate times called for desperate measures," Pyrrha intoned somberly, her gaze still downcast.

"What desperate times? Everything was still fairly normal by that point," the Courier said, now curious.

"They had said that there was a war coming, but not one between nations."

The Courier let out a sigh as he ran his hand through his hair. This was very bad. Another war. And this time on Remnant. And one that a very small group of conspirators were keeping secret from the general public. From what he had heard about how they had dealt with this matter and treated Pyrrha in regards to it, he hardly felt confident in their ethics. After the Fall of Beacon, he felt soundly disillusioned with their efficacy.

"And you didn't have a say in any of this?"

"No, they gave me the choice as to whether or not to go through with it. I had until the end of the Vytal tournament to make the decision."

Silenced reigned for about thirty seconds as the Courier processed the preceding conversation. A lot had been revealed. He was fully convinced that the power of the Maidens was real. There was no real motive for deceiving Pyrrha, nor any other reason why so many higher ups would be involved in a conspiracy.

"How does this relate to what you were talking about before…"

Markus was not sure how to end that sentence. "Before you ripped me apart" wouldn't have exactly been helpful at the moment. Thankfully Pyrrha understood what he was talking about and kept the conversation going, rather than allowing it to lapse into an awkward silence.

"I was trying to ask you about what I should do."

"Ah. And uh, what exactly did I advise you to do?"

" _In something as large as protecting the world, failure is not an option._ "

Markus cringed.

"I can see how that could be..misinterpreted."

Despite the fact that at the time he had had no possible way of knowing what the correct thing to say was, he really regretted what he had said.

Pyrrha finally looked at him, with tears brimming in her eyes, "With the fate of the world at stake, I couldn't' let my own personal feelings get in the way of fulfilling my destiny. After all, failure was not an option."

"Pyrrha, I would like to say, knowing all the facts, my honest opinion is that you should not have agreed to it."

"What should I have done instead? Say 'no thanks' and have them find someone else to do it?"

"You should have told me."

A spark of anger flared in her eyes.

"You should have told _me_."

It was a low blow, and they both knew it.

"It's not remotely equivalent. I could have helped with your secret. There's nothing you could have possibly done about mine."

"What could you have done about Amber?"

The Courier presumed Amber was the Fall Maiden's name. It was the only thing that made sense in context.

"There are medical facilities here that make Atlas tech look downright primitive. Certainly advanced enough to be worth a try at healing her. As opposed to if I told you about this place, where the best possible outcome would be that you never see this place."

"Right. I couldn't have helped because I'm absolutely helpless here, at total liability. Can't defend myself, won't shoot people, and can't even walk properly."  
"No, you can't help because no one can! This place has problems that can't be solved."

"I at least had a right to know! We're supposed to be partners! You're supposed to trust me!"

Another low blow. She was letting it all out now.

"If I had told you about all of this, would you have believed me? If you had, you would have hated me. I'm sure you would have understood the things I've seen, the things I've had to do from the comfort and safety of your dorm at Beacon?"

Pyrrha broke eye contact and deflated slightly. Hopefully she had the presence of mind to imagine what it would have been like had he told her the truth a few short weeks ago.

The Courier let out a long sigh.

It was Pyrrha however, that broke the silence.

"I should go to sleep. We have a long day tomorrow. As always."

The Courier found the swift change from anger to calm slightly odd. Yet, he heard some of the fire characteristic of her outburst remaining in her voice. Her voice no longer wavered though.

He tossed her a bottle of Aqua Pura. She caught it effortlessly. While she had fumbled it the first few times he had done so on account of her lack of Aura, her manual dexterity and hand-eye coordination ensured that she quickly recovered her skill over the many time the Courier gave her water.

"Make sure to take your Rad-X. Wouldn't want you growing a third arm."

The tensions between the two eased as minutes passed in companionable silence. As the two of them were settling down to sleep, one last question occurred to Markus.

"So I'm assuming you don't have this power?"

"No."  
"Who does?"

"The Woman in Red."

"Ah."

As the Courier drifted off to sleep, there was one thought in his mind.

 _She had better be dead._

* * *

 **AN:** Wow. One hundred Chapters. I never thought this story would be this long, much less gain this much of a following. I want to thank everyone who reads this story and especially everyone who leaves feedback that helps me improve it. If you want to ask me questions of give me feedback, you can do so through a PM, Review, or through the forum.


	101. Chapter 101 - Old Blood and Guts

Chapter 101 - Old Blood and Guts

"Pattons. Wow these things are old."

Markus slapped the half-green-half-rusted armored vehicle next to him. In a smooth motion he jumped onto it, his voice becoming muffled as he turned away from her.

"They've been retrofitted, nuclear powered, energy resistant armor, but still. This is a three hundred year old piece of tech."

He started tugging on the handle that was attached to a rusty hatch.

"Are you sure this is a good idea?" Pyrrha said hesitantly.

He actually stopped pulling and looked down at her.

"No, on second thought there might be some ferals in here. Better idea if you cover me."

Pyrrha found herself being pulled up onto the Patton, though she nearly fell as her heels slipped. She dropped her weapon as she moved to catch herself.

Markus steadied her and caught the M14.

"That's not what I meant."

"Sorry?"

"What I meant when I asked whether this was a good idea, I meant whether being here at all was a good idea."

"Why would being here be a bad idea?"

"This place seems pretty noticeable. Didn't you say we were in hostile territory? It seems like the Legion would know about this place."

Pyrrha looked around from on top of the vehicle before reiterating her concern.

"Are you _sure_ this is a good idea?"

"No. The Legion almost certainly know that this place exists. It's pretty likely they or someone else has taken everything easy to get to by now. But, a stalled military convoy in the middle of the desert is hardly a point of interest for either the Legion or anyone who passes through the area. No one regularly ventures this far from major roads."

The armor with the gas mask had become gradually less creepy to Pyrrha as she became more and more used to her partner's voice coming from it. It was still a bit strange. Markus' voice still seemed out of place coming from something so intimidating looking.

"If the Legion already took everything, why are we here?"

"I said they took everything _easy to get to._ These tanks are still sealed. The Legion likely didn't think it was worth the effort to get them open."

"But why do we need to do this? Surely you have enough stuff in you Pip-Boy to keep us supplied."

"Contrary to appearances, I don't actually have an infinite supply of everything in here," Markus tapped his Pip-Boy, "While there isn't any immediate danger of running out of anything, walking hundreds of miles through the desert is something that requires a lot of water. Add to that your sensitivity to radiation, and we also need to ensure that we have an enormous supply of both radiation medicine and radiation free food, the latter of which is rather rare."

Despite Markus' assurances that there was no immediate danger, Pyrrha was still experiencing anxiety over the prospect of the vast amount of things needed simply to survive and how much it depended upon luck to acquire them.

"Anyway, you're going to need this," Markus handed her the rifle, "and if you could just point it the hatch. Once I open it, if you see anything move, shoot till it's not. Got it."

Pyrrha leveled the rifle, and swallowed.

"Alright. Sure."

He pulled. The hatch tore off completely. Pyrrha heard and saw movement. She squeezed the trigger, and kept squeezing it until the weapon clicked empty. The recoil had been enough to hurt, though she had been capable of retaining control of the weapon. Pyrrha was getting used to everything hurting here.

She looked up from the dark, now silent interior of the tank to her partner, who was holding the hatch that he had torn cleanly off the vehicle.

"It was rusted," he said as an explanation, before tossing the piece of metal to the sand where it landed with a heavy thud.

Pyrrha looked back down at the interior of the tank, seeing the unmoving corpses of the feral ghouls there. She felt pride swell in her chest. She wasn't completely useless! She had done something combat related competently and even if it was effectively shooting fish in a barrel it had restored some of her confidence in herself.

"Oh, before I forget, take these."

Markus handed her a small pile of magazines for the rifle.

"The duster has plenty of pockets for these."

It took Pyrrha a second to find the relevant locations, but she quickly put away the ammunition, making a mental note of where it was. She knew it would be very bad to miss them when she needed them.

"Alright, so just cover me while I see what's in here."

Without waiting for an answer he disappeared into the ancient vehicle.

Pyrrha watched the landscape intensely, her eyes darting fervently along the horizon. She was not sure what exactly made her so paranoid at the moment. It was probably the adrenaline. The act of shooting things put her into fight or flight mode.

"And that's that."

Pyrrha very nearly jumped out of her skin when Markus appeared out of the hatch behind her.

He very tactfully ignored her jumpiness.

"We should get going. We're burning daylight here."

"Find what we need?"

"Radiation medicine, food, and pure water. Everything we needed. These tanks were nearly prepared for the apocalypse."

"Nearly." Pyrrha said, thinking about the idea of the world and what that meant.

"Anyway, we'd better get going before some more ferals decide to show up. It's possible there might be a whole lot of them hiding somewhere or other."

He lifted himself out of the hatch before bounding down to the sand below. He turned a reached up a hand to help Pyrrha down.

She was reluctant to take it.

"Come on, you can't exactly jump off something in those heels."

Pyrrha relented and allowed herself to be helped off the rust covered tank.

"You sure you don't have any other shoes?" she asked.

The pair started to walk in the direction of their initial course prior to their detour.

"None that would fit you. This is all your fault you know, you perfectly well could have chosen to wear practical shoes when we were back on Remnant."

"I didn't exactly plan for being stuck on another planet without Aura."

"Look at Ruby, she wears boots."  
"She also wears a combat skirt," Pyrrha replied.

"Still, I'd bet you'd much rather be stuck here in a skirt than in heels."

The conversation stopped when Markus turned to peer into a military truck that had had its back torn off. The inside was utterly ransacked. But there was one object that dominated the scene. A slightly taller than human height slightly rusty and very familiar looking object.

"This looks familiar," Pyrrha said.

"T-45D power armor. It looks like its fusion core's been taken. It's not remotely functional in this condition."

"Come on. We need to keep up the pace if we want to make it to Zion."

While Pyrrha had more questions about power armor and Markus' usage of it, she understood that they needed to keep moving. The last thing she wanted to do was to encounter more feral ghouls. Those things creeped her out. She resolved to question him further on the issue later. For now she set off across the shallow sands of Arizona.

"How much further is it?"

She realized she actually had no idea the distances involved or how far they were actually going.  
"You'd be better off not knowing."

"You always say that."

"And I'm always right."


	102. Chapter 102 - Perk: Power Armor Training

Chapter 102 - Perk: Power Armor Training

"So power...armor."

They had stopped on a river this time. Markus had told her it was called the Chinle when she had asked about it. It had been slightly before sunset when they had encountered it. Neither wishing to attempt the crossing of even a small river this close to dark, they encamped on its bank, though a little way off from the water.

As this seemed to be have become their unofficially designated time for Q&A Pyrrha took the time to ask after the power armor that Markus had mentioned earlier. She still had not forgotten the two times she had seen him using it. Both instances were during events that could only be described as unforgettable, though the power armor only played a small part in the reason the latter of the instances was burned into her memory. The image of the armor standing at the top of the tower was interwoven into her memory of the mess of incidents that characterized that entire day. In all honesty if that had been the only time she had seen it, it was possible she would have forgotten it entirely. It was largely because of the first time she had seen it that it had made such an impression on her.

At the time, it had confirmed that her partner was keeping secrets she had not even had any suspicions about as well as began a feeling of distrust towards him. Though she had never figured out exactly how to confront him about what she had seen, the experience had increased her curiosity about him massively.

In hindsight, it was probably a good thing she had not pursued the matter too keenly.

Regardless, she was now in a position that she felt safe in asking for answers. As far as she could tell, she knew the worst parts of the truth.

"What about it?," Markus responded.  
Lamenting her lack of proficiency in communication, Pyrrha tried to form a more specific and coherent question.

"I saw you using it."

That was not a question. _Great. Well done._

Despite Pyrrha's mental berating of herself, it seemed that the conversation was nonetheless going somewhere.

"Yes, on top of the CCT tower."

"No, I also saw it before, when we fought the Paladins."

"Oh, I didn't think you were watching. I had figured it would be better not to have to explain it to you."

It made sense to Pyrrha that he would not want to try to explain something like highly advanced armor now that she knew what secret he had been keeping. That still left another question.

"How does it work?"

"Well," Markus fiddled with his Pip-Boy for a second before the armor in question appeared next to them, "that's not an easy question to answer."

The armor was a gray-white. While Pyrrha had difficulty making out any greater details due to the darkness, she could tell that it was subtly different in structure to the more rusted set they had seen earlier that day.

Markus stood up and started to turn a large metal valve that was on the back of the armor.

"To put it in the simplest terms possible, it amplifies everything you do by several orders of magnitude, all while being very bulletproof. The armor's quite rare, with this particular variant being entirely unique, even before the modifications I've added to it."

"Why don't you use it all the time then?"

It seemed to Pyrrha that with armor as advanced as this, there was no reason not to use it.

"Well I haven't been able to use it much when on Remnant, but the reason I don't use it here is that even with all the sensor and equipment in it, the helmet limits your visibility and inhibits your situational awareness drastically. While the riot gear has a similar issue, the lenses are much closer to my eyes, making the effect far less pronounced."

There was a lull in the conversation while Markus looked at one of the wrists of the armor.

"Ideally, I'd like to get you a set of power armor to wear basically at all times."

There was a short pause before he continued.

"Actually, it's probably a good idea if I start teaching you how to use it."

Markus had detached one of the gauntlets from the main armor

"What? Why?"

"Considering my main goal right now is getting you back to Remnant alive, encasing you in enough metal to stop Anti-Materiél Rifle would make that a lot easier."

The reasoning made sense. While Pyrrha was hesitant to use heavy armor, she realized that it might make her less useless.

"How do you-," Pyrrha struggled for the phrase before finishing lamely, "-do it?"

"Very, very carefully. Using it without training is a death sentence."

"Oh."

Pyrrha was substantially less eager to try it now.

"You don't really have to worry too much about that. The fatal part is that everything is amplified. It's pretty easy to hurt yourself if you're not trained for that. This, however, is a controlled environment. You have nothing to worry about."

Pyrrha offered no resistance when Markus enveloped her hand in the gauntlet. She noticed a small wire running from the gauntlet to the main body of the armor. She assumed it was for the power part of the armor.

"Alright, we'll just start with one of the gauntlets for now, this should minimize the risk of you hurting yourself. I'm going to give it power now, do your best not to move."

Pyrrha swallowed and tried her absolute best to hold her hand entirely still. Nonetheless, it trembled slightly, partly due to supporting the weight of the heavy metal piece of armor. And when the power turned on, the trembling became a sort of spasming, jerking up and down wildly. Before it could get worse, Markus grabbed her arm, holding it steady moving it towards her, where her hand was better supported.

"The closest analogy to this is Aura."

"Aura doesn't really boost…," Pyrrha searched for the word, "...responsiveness? this much. You can still do delicate things with Aura."

"Anyway, now try to bend your wrist back a little."

"Are you sure this is a good idea?"

"Don't worry, I'll provide resistance so you don't hurt yourself."

As he said this, Markus moved his grip to the behind her wrist and on top of her hand.

"Do it."

Pyrrha tried to make the smallest motion possible.

While her wrist didn't move, the rest of her body did, being pulled forward, nearly off her feet, only stopped by colliding with her partner.

A moment later she felt the cool night air on the bare skin of her hand. Markus reattached the gauntlet to the rest of the armor and digitized the entire thing.

"Well, that could have gone better," he said.

"It could have gone worse?" Pyrrha offered.

"True, but I'm still going to see if I can find some way to reduce the force it uses for training purposes," he flexed his forearm, "I'm not sure I can reliably overpower power armor, even when you aren't trying to move much. It's also probably best if I can get you your own set, you might have some trouble with this one. Besides, white power armor has become somewhat associated with me. It'd wouldn't be great for your safety to have people thinking you were me."

"You're well known for wearing white armor," Pyrrha deadpanned.

"Yes?" he said, slightly confused.

Pyrrha started to giggle. It was a giddy sound that quickly grew out of control.

"You're-" she was laughing so hard it was difficult to speak, "you're a literal white knight," she managed to get out before launching into another fit of laughter.

The mildly confused expression on his face with one eyebrow raised somehow made it even funnier and soon Pyrrha was laughing hysterically.

It was so funny to her that at the end of the day she ended up with her white knight. After all her fantasies and daydreams, this was the merciless and mocking reality that she had been presented with. The white knight that had killed well over a thousand people. The most miserable and pessimistic person she knew. He was reality's knight in shining, white, power armor.

It was with that realization that Pyrrha knew destiny existed, and that it despised her.


	103. Chapter 103 - Fire and Movement

Chapter 103 - Fire and Movement

While Pyrrha was not a particularly light sleeper, the sound that broke the silence of the night was one that not even the heaviest of sleepers could make it through undisturbed.

A gunshot.

Pyrrha sat bolt upright.

Or rather, tried to.

As she attempted to, she felt an unyielding barrier over her mouth preventing her from sitting up, or making any noise.

After a second, Markus removed his gloved hand.

Pyrrha felt a little insulted that Markus had assumed that she would react by making noise. Though, on second thought she knew he was massively paranoid, especially about this sort of thing.

Pyrrha sat up, more slowly than she had initially attempted to. She looked to Markus. Her eyes met the the red lenses of his helmet. She saw a barely visible tint of green in them.

It was still nearly pitch black. Pyrrha could barely see anything. The only illumination was from the faint light of the stars, and the much stronger light of the moon. It was difficult to make out the single finger that Markus held against his helmet, presumably where his lips were underneath.

Several gunshots rang out. Pyrrha flinched. So did Markus. But both quickly recovered after the realization that they were some distance off, quite clearly not aimed at them.

Markus grabbed her wrist, and gently pulled her through the dark to the nearest rock formation to the shooting.

While Pyrrha still managed to stumble on the short way into cover, it was only a few short moments before they were both crouching there. Pyrrha realized she was holding the M14, though she didn't remember picking it up.

Markus pushed something into her hands. The lenses of the mask had regained their cold eeriness in the darkness.

"Put these on."

He spoke quietly, but did not whisper.

Pyrrha relaxed a little at this, she knew that if there was any immediate danger, he would have nearly inaudible. She looked at the object in her hands. It looked like a pair of binocular attached to some straps that looked to fit around the head. Feeling slightly silly, she did as she was told and put it on.

Markus folded the binoculars down over her eyes. Initially, Pyrrha saw nothing for a moment. Then, she felt him press something on it, and the whole world lit up green.

The most striking feature was that everything was now a very vivid shade of green. In fact, the lack of color contrast made it difficult to distinguish the edge of objects. The second most striking feature, was the fact that everything was as clear as day. She could clearly see Markus peering through the scope of his long rifle upriver, where she assumed the shots had come from.

Huh. Night vision. Neat.

Taking a cue from her partner, Pyrrha raised her own rifle, looking around her own side of their cover. While it was a bit difficult to manage to align the goggles with the scope, after a second, Pyrrha managed it.

She wasn't sure what she was supposed to be seeing. The sparse shrubbery of the area was the only thing that moved, swaying slightly in the light breeze. Even the river appeared deceptively still. There was no sign of any source for the gunfire.

A much deeper boom resonated from the direction they were both looking. The two of them flinched once again. It once again took Pyrrha a moment to realign the end of the goggles with the scope of the rifle. The sound was familiar. Familiar recognized it, from months ago. It was the sound of Markus' Anti-Materiel rifle. Well, not _his_ rifle of course, but a similar enough one. And Pyrrha had seen a flash before she had flinched. That was enough for her to home in on where the shots had been coming from.

Further upriver, but close to the water. She saw movement. A large group moved towards a smaller one. Suddenly, a barrage of gunfire began. Automatic fire was interspersed with the occasional boom of heavier weapons, sometimes the Anti-Materiel Rifle, sometimes other lighter cracks rifle fire pierced the staccato drumming of the machine guns.

Oddly, neither flinched.

Pyrrha looked closer at the scene, zooming in with the dial on the scope. While she was by no means an expert, she was fairly certain that the larger of the two groups fighting was the Legion. They attacked ferociously and relentlessly, with the advantage of numbers on their side.

But they were being gunned down. The monumental rock formation that characterized the region were absent closer to the river. Charging across the open ground, they were being slaughtered en masse.

It may have been because the of how difficult it was to see the gory details due to the distance and the goggles, or because of what she knew they had done, or a combination of the two, but Pyrrha felt nothing as she watched the Legion die. She didn't even question why she didn't feel anything. Perhaps it was because she was tired. Both tired in the sense of being exhausted, and simply being tired of feeling strongly about all these things.

In a matter of mere minutes, the gunfire died down. As apparently, had the Legion. And now, their killer were walking towards where the two of them were sheltering. Wonderful. Absolutely wonderful.

"Pyrrha they're heading towards us, and they're not friendly."

Pyrrha knew what that meant. He was going to kill them. She knew that they would kill the pair of them if they had the chance, but she still didn't like it. But it didn't matter if she liked it or not. It had to be done.

"Stay here, keep your head down. Don't do anything stupid. Or at all."

With that, Pyrrha saw the first of the group approaching them go down, still a couple hundred meters away, before she sank back into cover.

She heard shouting and gunfire. She flinched as rounds impacted around their position. Only the lighter guns were firing. The heavier weapons must have been with the Legion. She wasn't sure who was shooting at them nor why they were doing so, but it lowered her opinion of this place further. Now it was not only the Legion who would kill them on sight but this other group as well. Markus _had_ mention _two_ wars after all. Perhaps one was against them? She would have to ask him later. It was strange that her mind managed to wander in periods of intense stress like this where rounds were impacting all around her.

The voices were becoming louder and the shots more accurate, with an increasing number hitting the cover they were sheltering behind. Markus had switched from the silenced sniper rifle to an unsuppressed assault rifle. He was popping out of cover from various angles, unleashing a hail of bullets, and returning to cover before the enemy would reply in kind. Pyrrha didn't know if he was hitting anything or not, but in any case, the bullets kept coming their direction. From what she knew about her partner's marksmanship, it was more likely that the margin they were outnumbered by allowed their enemy to take casualties and still outgun them.

At one point, after a particularly rapid response to his fire, Markus turned to her.

"They're more coordinated than I expected. They're doing a good job at pinning me. I'm going to have to try something more-grenade!"

She only barely managed to see the object in question before Markus pushed her away and Pyrrha started to run.

Run, but run where? There were several options. The river bank was low enough that she would be easily out of sight there, but that was far away. That was a lot of open ground to cover while being shot at. Alternatively, there was a tiny outcropping form by a rock half covered in sand. While she would have to essentially just lie there in order to be in cover, it was much closer. Pyrrha decided on the latter. She could always move from there to the embankment if she decided to later. She sprinted towards the cover.

Then, she felt herself punched in the side with considerable force.

She found herself on the ground though she didn't remember falling. Her hearing was faint and strange. She brought her hands to where she had felt the blow, but felt nothing, neither from her hands nor her side. The only thing she felt was the pounding of her heart and the rush of adrenaline.

Pyrrha looked at her hands and saw blood.

" _Oh,"_ she thought to herself dully, " _I've been shot._ "


	104. Chapter 104 - Siegfried

Chapter 104 - Siegfried

Pyrrha sat bolt upright. This time, nothing stopped her. The first thing she did was clutch her side. Her hands didn't feel wet, and she was still alive, so things couldn't' be too bad. She looked down, her heart pounding in anticipation. She saw red, and nearly panicked. That quickly gave way to relief as she saw it was a dark red mixed with brown. Dried blood. Feeling under her corset, she felt no perforations, nothing but smooth skin. Relief flooded her. She was fine.

Pyrrha looked up. It was day. The blinding light of the desert sun made that apparent, though she could tell immediately that she was in shade. The absence of the oppressive heat of the relentless rays of the sun that characterized this place in her mind told her that. It was funny how two dimensional her impressions of this place was so far. While she had been told that this was a whole new world, all she had seen so far was sand, blood, heat, and death.

Speaking of, she looked around for her partner, and was slightly surprised to find him a little to her left and behind her, leaning against a rock pillar that provided the two of them with shade. He was still wearing the riot gear, leaving his expression a mystery.

"How are you feeling?"

He sounded worried. Pyrrha felt a little like rolling her eyes at the question, and might have done so had her mind not been too preoccupied wrestling with the implications of the answer.

"I was shot."

Even to herself she sounded somewhat uncertain, as if she didn't quite believe it. Getting shot was something she had never foreseen happening. In hindsight, she probably should have given the circumstance, but she had always assumed it would have been a sort of all or nothing deal, where she would either die, or be fine. The idea of being wounded had never occurred to her.

"Twice actually. Two 556 rounds through your abdomen, one of them pierced your kidney. Stimpacks work wonders."

While Pyrrha was still a little shocked from the revelation, she nodded in affirmation largely in agreement with the last statement. She now looked at her side where most of the blood had dried. The bullets had missed the Duster entirely, both entering close enough to each other that whiter tissue regenerated by the Stimpack overlapped, creating one blob.

"The scar should fade pretty quickly. Stimpacks take care of bullet wounds pretty easily. As long as they don't get you in one hit, and you have stimpacks, you have good odds of survival."

Alright. Getting shot was not really a problem unless it killed her. That was something new. Pyrrha supposed that that was a fairly large caveat considering how deadly firearms were without Aura. She still didn't know how guns worked without Dust, or why they were, with the exclusion of Markus' silenced weapons, far louder than weapons on Remnant. But while she was curious, those questions were shoved far down her list of priorities.

As Markus stood off from the rock he was leaning against she looked up at him from where she sat.

"Still, this kind of thing should be avoided, if at all possible," he materialized something from his Pip-Boy, "To that end, you need some better protection."

He handed her the black material and helmet. It was quite heavy. The fabric had a plethora of pockets and pouches. All of them filled with various things that she presumed were useful to survival and combat, many containing nothing but ammunition.

"Put those on."

She looked up at him, slightly skeptical. He just nodded at her to start. She did so.

"I initially hadn't wanted to have to have you wear this given how hot it is and how heavy the armor is. I had hoped that the speed we would gain would mean it would not be needed. Unfortunately, I was proven wrong."

Pyrrha had slipped off the duster before donning the body armor and putting the duster back on again. She found that it was surprisingly helpful at mitigating the heat. The armor on the other hand, being thick, black, and heavy did just about the opposite. While the weight was just about bearable based on the way it was distributed across her entire torso, it was a noticeable burden, especially for someone who found walking to be a bit of a challenge.

"And the helmet."

As with the armor, it took a moment of fiddling with the straps to get it to fit in a manner where it would not fall off as soon as it was actually needed.

"I look ridiculous."

Pyrrha was aware how comical she must have looked, with her greaves, boots, corset, and duster now combined with this black body armor.

"As long as you're less likely to die."

"At this point I think I'd rather take the risk."

While Pyrrha was still deathly afraid of dying, this march through the badlands was utterly miserable. With this new development everything seemed to be getting worse.

"I'm not letting you die because I decided it was too inconvenient to protect you properly."

Pyrrha heard real emotion in his voice, a serious commitment and desire to keep her alive. It comforted her that she was in fact cared about on a personal level.

But moving beyond her partner's efforts to protect her, she now had questions.

"Where are we?"

"I took us across the river and a little way away. After tending to you I made it appear that the two groups wiped each other out. Hopefully no one will examine the incident too closely. A pursuit is the last thing we need."

It took Pyrrha a second to comprehend the implications of what he had said.

While Markus was the consummate professional and undertook all of this very seriously and in a business like manner, Pyrrha on the other hand was still a schoolgirl, albeit a champion fighter at a combat school, but a normal teenager nonetheless. Even in these life or death circumstances the idea of Markus carrying her was enough to make her feel highly awkward.

She hurried on to the next question in order to avoid her own thoughts.

"Who were they?"

"A tribe called the 80's, their name taken from the road that runs through their territory. I'm not sure why they would be so far South though. Route 80 is far north from here."

There was a lapse in conversation for a moment.

"So, now that that's dealt with, how are you feeling?"

Her side ached a bit, and her feet hurt, but she didn't really feel much worse for wear than she had twelve hours earlier. Pyrrha tried to stand up, and failed at doing so. Her heels in combination with the loose sand prevented her from getting enough friction to do so.

"Have you considered just cutting the heels off?"

She paused for a second. She hadn't in fact considered it. She wasn't sure if it would work or help but at this point.

"I might as well try it. It could hardly make it any worse."

Markus bent down and handed her a knife. It was a strange one, with a spiked handguard and serrated back edge. It was this edge that she used to modify her shoes. She tried to get up again, this time finding much greater success.

"Alright, I'm ready."

"Let's go then. It'll be good to put some more distance between us and the mess we left behind."

They had been walking for about an hour or so, when after giving her another bottle of water Markus asked her a question.

"Pyrrha, at Beacon, how did you end on the top of the CCT tower? You just disappeared at one point in the battle before ending up there?"

"I went to Ozpin to try to become the Maiden."

Her partner visibly tensed before relaxing again. It was evident even though he was totally covered in armor.

"That was a terrible idea."

"In hindsight, it most certainly was," Pyrrha said sadly. The image of Amber's death was another burnt into her mind.

"How did you find me there?"

Pyrrha realized that she had told nobody about the fact that she had gone to face the woman in Red on top of the CCT. That made her miraculous rescue even more miraculous.

"I tracked your Scroll. In hindsight, I probably should have set that up earlier."

While ordinarily Pyrrha wouldn't have been pleased with the idea of her movements being tracked by anyone, given Markus' track record of saving her she noted with some bitterness that it would be a good idea. Make no mistake, Pyrrha was not bitter at Markus, or that she was rescued, rather she blamed herself for being weak enough to need rescuing. Even on Remnant she still had to be saved.

"But still," he partner asked, "Why were you on the CCT? Why would you try to fight the Fall Maiden?"

 _Uh oh._ Something told Pyrrha this conversation was not going to go well.


	105. Chapter 105 - Quo Fata Ferunt

**AN:** This should have been uploaded two days ago. I'm not sure why it wasn't, but here it is.

* * *

Chapter 105 - Quo Fata Ferunt

The Courier had a feeling he wouldn't like whatever reason Pyrrha had for being at the top of that tower.

"I uh...I was…"

She just kind of trailed off, her eyes downcast.

As they kept walking, Markus let out a heavy sigh.

"Why don't you start from the beginning," he said in a kinder, more sympathetic voice,

"What happened once you went to Ozpin?"

"Well, we took an elevator down to the vault under Beacon," Pyrrha said haltingly, "There, we went to where Amber was. I entered a chamber to start the transfer."

After a second, in a much smaller voice, Pyrrha said, "It hurt a lot."

The Courier visibly tensed. The experience sounded uncomfortably familiar.

So the transfer had been started. And Pyrrha didn't have the Maiden Power and was, as far as he knew, totally fine from the procedure. Unless the machine developed by Atlas had been totally non-functional, something must have gone wrong.

"How did the transfer go?"

"The Woman came in, and…," Pyrrha exhaled emotionally, "...she killed Amber."

"Oh."

That was another thing he could add to his list of things that traumatized Pyrrha.

On that note, the conversation lapsed into silence as the two trudged through the endless sand.

"So what did you do then?"

"I-I wanted to help, but Professor Ozpin told me to go get help from Qrow, Ironwood, and Professor Goodwitch. He told me that the tower must not fall."

Oops. A little too late for that. One way or another, that tower was gone. And Ozpin. As he knew that the Woman in Red had ended up on top of the tower, the headmaster was presumed dead. While it was possible he could have survived by some manner or other, logically, there was no reason to believe that he had survived considering that he had lost a fight with someone entirely willing to kill him.

"Pyrrha, how did you end up facing her on the top of the tower."

Pyrrha looked nervous. Not a good sign. Markus had a pretty good idea of the answer to this question, but he desperately hoped he was wrong.

"I saw her fly to the top of the tower. I knew I needed to stop her. Professor Ozpin had said that the tower couldn't be allowed to fall."

"You went to the top of the tower to fight that woman."

The Courier voice was deathly serious.

"The woman who you, at the time, knew to have defeated Ozpin. The woman you knew to have Maiden powers, powers so great in magnitude that a conspiracy involving the highest echelons of government is needed to safeguard them. The woman that Ozpin told you to get Qrow, Ironwood, or Goodwitch to help _him_ fight against."

Pyrrha looked a little anxious. He could see she was fidgeting.

"Pyrrha, why did you go to the top of that tower?"

"Because it needed to be done. Someone had to stop her. There was no time to do anything else. I went to the top of that tower in order to stop her."

"You went to the top of that tower to die! You knew you didn't stand a chance. You knew everything I just said, and you went anyway! If Ozpin didn't think he had a chance even with your help what chance did you think you stood on your own?"

Pyrrha recoiled from the outburst, but quickly met his anger with her own.

"And what was I supposed to do?! Just let her win!?"

"Yes. You were supposed to simply not fight her. If you don't even stand a chance of winning then fighting is pointless. Better she win and you survive then she stand victorious over your corpse. Your choice to face her was not an act of heroism, only one of suicide."

"It was my destiny to help people! I couldn't just let her do whatever she wanted, unchallenged? Was I supposed to just stand by while she killed innocent people?"

The Courier actually stopped and turned to face Pyrrha. He instantly switched from berating Pyrrha to being a much more subdued and gravely serious tone.

"This 'Destiny' stuff is going to get you killed, sooner or later, probably sooner now that you're here," this was a spiel that the Courier felt he probably should have given Pyrrha earlier. This was not a place that naive idealism could survive. "Everyone thinks they're the hero of the story. The truth is, no one's special. Everyone dies the same as anyone else. There's no special fate you're destined for that saves you from dying in a ditch just like the other guy. No one has any destiny made out for them. You're not predestined for anything. Everyone's future is determined by how they act and react to their circumstances. You need to learn that there's no grand fate awaiting you, you're not the hero of an epic or something. These delusions of grandeur are dangerous. The only thing anyone can do is make the best decision at any given time. God knows there are no perfect solutions."

But Pyrrha's emotions were still running high.

"And does the 'best decision' look like standing around while innocent people get slaughtered?! I'm not helping people to be a hero, I'm doing it because it's the right thing to do!"

The Courier was done yelling. He had gotten his initial gut reaction out of the way. He was now speaking in an softer, very subdued tone in the manner that one would break bad news. Because that's just what he had for Pyrrha, bad news.

"Context is everything. The question is always what the best option is out of all of them. Sometimes, there's nothing you can do to stop bad things from happening. Dying in the attempt counts for nothing. If there are only two possible outcomes, one with you alive and a bunch of civilians dead and one with everyone dead, it's clear the former was a better outcome."

"But you have to at least try! You can't just not do anything because you might fail!"

"Pyrrha, it's not that you might not win the fight that makes this an issue. The problem is that you entered a fight to the death with no means or reasonable expectation of winning. Had you died, through your death, absolutely nothing would have been gained. You would have died in order to say that you tried."

"It wasn't like that," Pyrrha mumbled. It seemed that she had run out of energy to stay angry. The two of them had begun walking again. Despite their argument, there was no real feeling of resentment in the air between them. Only melancholy silence.

After a little while longer, the Courier stopped.

"Look," Markus said with a sigh, "I'm sorry for yelling at you about this. It's just I don't want you to die because…" he struggled for the qualifier he was looking for before just making it a blanket statement, "It's just I don't want you to die. Especially not for nothing."

Pyrrha nodded, looking at him. Unsurprisingly, Pyrrha did not seem to be a fan of the prospect of dying. Markus then made a somewhat odd request.

"Promise me you won't throw your life away."

Pyrrha looked at him for a second. He could tell her thoughts were a jumbled mess by now.

"I promise."

And while the Courier still would not be able to sleep easy, he certainly slept better, knowing that Pyrrha would not waste her life attempting the impossible.


	106. Chapter 106 - Extremes

Chapter 106 - Extremes

Pyrrha had predicted that the body armor would cause problems in the heat of the desert, but she had never expected how miserable the experience would be. While she could tell that the armor was meant to make its wearing as bearable as possible in conditions such as these, she was not prepared to be marching through a wasteland in black body armor that held a near excessive amount of ammunition.

Despite her partner's assurances that it was worth it, Pyrrha did not like having to wear the gear. But Markus insisted. While Pyrrha naturally had no inclination to die, the frequent stops she was forced to make to stave off dehydration, exhaustion, and overheating were draining and somewhat embarrassing.

As they continued to walk through the very same-y looking landscape, Pyrrha was given ample time to think about the outcome of their last conversation.

It wasn't a great outcome. That was the second time one of their little question and answer sessions had devolved into shouting. And mentally, Pyrrha still couldn't quite accept that at times the right course of action was not to even try.

Something else was also peculiar. In the conversation they had had earlier, Markus had shown more emotion than he had in the entirety of their time at Beacon. While it wasn't as though he had been totally emotionless, his emotions had never really swung far from the neutral balance. He had never seemed affected by the events around as much as virtually anyone else was.

Pyrrha could guess why. Coming from this, everything they experienced at Beacon were a rather casual affair, something that really wouldn't warrant much of a reaction. It was then that she really realized how alien Markus' perspective on events was. His frame of reference was so different from anyone else she had known, and likely would know. The issues he dealt with were on an entirely different level to the things that were issues on Remnant.

And now, she had to deal with those issues as well. Though, in her case, she wasn't alone in facing them. She couldn't imagine what it would have been like had she been stuck here alone or how, even in an ideal situation, she would have managed. Her dependence was exemplified by the results of their most recent battle. Pyrrha touched her side as she thought back to it.

She felt a small amount of shame well up inside her at her role in the engagement. All she had done was hide, run, and get shot. She pushed it down, and crushed it, trying to focus on more useful things. She was largely successful, but the doubt remained in the back of her mind.

Markus' reaction to her decision to face the Woman in Red was something that she certainly considered worth decoding. Unfortunately for Pyrrha, she was not the best at this kind of thing. He had explicitly stated that he did not want her to die. In fact, he had made her promise not to. Well, not exactly not to die, but not to "throw your life away," whatever that meant exactly. But Pyrrha was still unsure of why exactly he would take such an issue as to her survival to warrant such a reaction. They had been in many life or death situations together before, and this had not come up. Nor did she know why he seemed so concerned about her life specifically.

She knew he had...killed, many people, and no doubt seen people die around him. She didn't know why he would take such an interest in her well being.

She had ideas of course, but she didn't want to get ahead of herself.

The beginning of sunset brought relief to Pyrrha both physically and mentally. Both the lessening of the intensity of the sun's rays and the knowledge that she could rest soon bolstered her morale. Far in the distance, barely visible on the horizon was some kind of mountain or hill silhouetted against the setting sun. Pyrrha vaguely wondered about it, but was too exhausted to ask for any kind of information about it. She really simply couldn't find the energy in her to care about something so trivial at this point.

The arrival of darkness was something more welcome than just about anything Pyrrha had experienced in her life. The desire to rest, and just curl up and sleep was her primary motivation for existing at this point. But, there was something that delayed her from doing so.

Just as Pyrrha was about to get the sleep she so desperately desired, the two of them saw something far in the distance.

The top of the mountain they saw was lighting up sporadically. Short flashes were coming from it. Then, a more sustained light source appeared. This one was red, and reached above the mountain's highest point before coming back down.

"Flares and gunshots," Markus said.

Pyrrha could only barely hear any sounds that would indicate that something was happening. The two of them were at much too great a distance for the sound to carry well.

Pyrrha looked to her partner questioningly, with dull, tired eyes.

"Get some sleep. They're too far away for us to worry about. I'll wake you if anything happens."

Pyrrha nodded, and proceeded to do her best to fall asleep. At this point, she didn't really care whether or not she was in danger. The only thing she cared about was getting some sleep.

While Pyrrha's sleep was not usually haunted by nightmares, it had not been exactly peaceful since arriving here. Every time she woke up, she knew she had dreamt something or other, but couldn't remember it. It was always just outside her mental reach, always on the tip of her tongue, but she could never remember. Despite not knowing the contents, she was continually left with a feeling of uneasiness. The notable exception to this had been after getting...getting shot. She had slept remarkably well after that, especially considering the adrenaline coursing through her as well as the damage that had been done.

But this night, though Pyrrha desperately wanted, and needed, a restful, peaceful night of sleep, she was not to be that lucky.

 _Everything was disjointed and surreal. Pyrrha's dream seemed less like life, and more like a movie. Images flashed before her eyes, faster and more numerous than she could comprehend, though all with similar themes. All involved things that were utterly horrific. And many involved people she knew, and sometimes herself. Eventually, it stopped on one scene. Suddenly, everything felt as real as waking life. She was looking up. The sky was an unsettling shade of red. She looked down. An open pit lay before her. It was filled almost entirely with bodies. A mass grave. The bodies themselves were strange in appearance. Thankfully, none looked familiar. Truthfully, they didn't look quite right. While Pyrrha only had limited experience with death, the corpses looked more like statues or wax replicas than actual bodies. None exhibited any wounds, and their skin looked very un-lifelike, more like porcelain than anything else. And they were stacked and piled into this mass grave, their glassy eyes all open, and all staring straight ahead from where they lay._

 _She turned without making any conscious decision to do so. Markus stood there. He looked at her smiling. With one hand, he caressed her cheek. Blood dripped from his hand down her face. Pyrrha backed away in shock. The scene suddenly changed. The mass grave remained. A row of people were lined up in front of the grave. They were blindfolded with their hands behind their backs, presumably tied there. Markus stood a bit away from them, and gunned them down. Pyrrha let out a scream of horror, but no sound came out. The corpses began to writhe._

 _The scene suddenly disappeared entirely. A much more familiar location replaced it. Pyrrha was in the desert, back to the monument where she had seen the Legionnaires bodies. Only, now there were no bodies. There was a single Legionnaire. And she had him in the sights of the M14. He had a lever action weapon. She hesitated. He pulled the trigger. Suddenly, she was looking at herself from the outside at the exact instant the bullet impacted with her neck. Everything moved in slow motion as it made contact. The image of the bullet piercing her skin was made as gory as her mind could image. The projectile tore a gaping hole through her throat, shredding skin and crushing bone as it did so, her flesh and tissue rippling gruesomely as it did so, with blood cascading down._

It was then that Pyrrha woke up.


	107. Chapter 107 - The Earth Head

Chapter 107 - The Earth Head

Pyrrha woke up, opened her eyes, saw that the sky was light, and promptly closed them again. While Pyrrha was no stranger to not wanting to have to get up, what with the intense training she was accustomed to, she had long since learned to overcome that through discipline and motivation. Now however, she found it incredibly difficult to force herself to remain awake. It was only as a matter of competitive and perfectionist pride that she managed to do so.

Still, she did indulge herself in allowing herself just lie there for a bit. Unfortunately, this lull in stimuli caused her to remember her dream. While the dream was not exactly scary, it was still one she would rather not remember. The dream itself was strange in the sense that while Pyrrha felt horror at the images, she did not really feel afraid. It mainly felt unsettling.

Funnily enough, that served as enough motivation for her to get up. If there was anything that was enough to distract her from what she had dreamt, it was the hellish experience she endured daily.

Markus was not entirely happy about the direction they were headed given the fact that he knew for a fact that there had recently been combat on it. Navajo Mountain was on the very fringes of Legion territory and thus it was entirely possible that virtually anyone could be fighting over it. From the NCR, to the tribes of Zion, to remnants of the White Legs, all were close enough to the area and he was so unfamiliar with the current territorial situation and that of ongoing conflicts that he couldn't really tell.

In an absolute best case scenario, the NCR would have been the ones doing the shooting. Making contact with the NCR would make the rest of this journey a cakewalk. Even with the fact that the NCR did not have their territory entirely secured, it was magnitudes better than being in the entirely hostile Legion territory. From NCR territory, he would have been able to safely undertake a journey to the Big MT. However it was incredibly unlikely that they had mobilized and undertaken the massive offensive needed to properly exploit the deterioration of the Legion. Mobilization on that scale, especially for a democracy, in such a short time frame in order to capture more territory was unheard of. The slow bureaucracy of the post war republic made this even more difficult and unlikely.

In the most likely case scenario, it would be two hostile groups fighting each other, much like their previous encounter with the 80's. But the Courier still held out hope that the Dead Horses could have begun to move further east.

"Markus…, why are we heading _towards_ where the shooting was last night?"

Pyrrha's question was a bit delayed. He had expected it earlier. Considering how much asking questions had become a staple of their interaction here it was surprising. Perhaps the journey was taking more out of her than he had thought. He would need to keep an eye on her in order to prevent her from pushing herself too hard. She had too much pride to actually admit any weakness on this front.

"It's the shortest way to Zion."

"Couldn't we just go around it?" she said, still sounding very anxious about the prospect of having to head towards the mountain.

"Not without going dozens of miles out of our way."

Pyrrha seemed keen to avoid any potential conflict. Given how their last encounter had went, it was hardly surprising. It was further expected due to her unwillingness to kill and general ineptitude at combat here. While the Courier knew that he should teach her the former, given the fact that she was already a good shot the latter should not be too much of a problem, he didn't really know how to teach that. More than that, and it was something that he simply did not really want to do. Convincing a teenage girl to kill people was something that did not sit right with him. While it would make her safer and probably increase her chances of survival, he still couldn't bring himself to actually do it.

Well, if she was ever in a kill or be killed scenario, Markus knew how she would act. He knew first hand that even the most idealistic will kill when it is needed for survival. It appeared that in addition to a lack of atheists, there seemed to be a lack of idealists in foxholes.

The mountain began to tower over them more and more as they go closer to it. While it was not incredibly tall as far as mountains go, compared to the near flat desert they had been through it might as well have been the Rockies.

As the two of them got closer to the base of the structure, and the sun began to lower as evening approached, the two scrambled for cover as they heard gunshots. They were yet some distance away, but neither of them were keen to be exposed.

They were coming from the right. More gunshots joined the first barrage, this time from higher up the mountain.

The Courier looked to the right, but the rock covered terrain and variations in elevation made the observation of where the shots were coming from impossible from their current position. He moved from cover to cover, checking periodically if he could see either party of the combatants.

He indicated to Pyrrha that she should follow him. He couldn't just leave her somewhere while he sorted this out. He couldn't really let her out of his sight in this context.

Finally, lying on a pretty flat rock overlooking a fold in the landscape, he was able to see at least one group of combatants.

The 80's were assaulting uphill. Despite the fact that a large volume of low caliber fire was being poured down hill, they were advancing with low casualties. There were only about a dozen of them, and as far as he could tell, all seemed to be combat effective.

Judging by the fact that the defenders were using guns, he could rule out the Legion as a party. Yet, there were numerous groups that used low caliber weapons. In fact, most did. Thus he only knew who it was not.

He pondered his options. He did not want to get himself involved in the battle until he determined who the other side was. Perhaps it would be beneficial to allow the 80's to take out the defenders of the mountain before he took them out.

The only way to identify the defenders was to do so visually. He had to see them. And that meant moving to a different position. Currently he and Pyrrha were on the left flank of the 80's. In order to identify the group firing downhill, they would either need to move up hill and attempt to gain a similar position to that they had against the 80's, or move downhill and behind the 80's so that they could look uphill.

The issue with the former was that they stood a much better chance of getting spotted as the defenders, assuming they had any degree of competence, would be expecting a flanking attempt. The 80's, given that _they_ were the ones doing the attacking would not expect to be flanked.

Carefully guiding Pyrrha from cover to cover he moved them down hill until they were far enough behind the 80's that they could move right until they were behind the raiders, before moving upwards. He could tell Pyrrha was nervous. The truth was that she had every right to be. What they were doing was very risky, and even with body armor, a stray bullet could very well be the end of her. He noticed that she unconsciously held the M14 in a deathgrip. Motioning for her to stay put, the Courier looked uphill with his own scope. He saw the exposed backs of 80's, before looking further up. What he saw there, were some familiar symbols. Sometimes he was luckier than he thought.


	108. Chapter 108 - Sin of Omission

Chapter 108 - Sin of Omission

Pyrrha, in spite of her best judgment, was not really keeping her head down. The fact that Markus had moved away from her before shooting meant that none of the bullets were aimed at her. No one except for him knew she was there, or even existed for that matter.

It was because of this that she felt relatively safe peeking out from behind the rock she was taking cover behind to watch the firefight.

She wasn't entirely sure why she was doing this. She knew that she would have been much happier if she had simply not watched any of it. She knew she would see things she wouldn't want to. It could be out of some kind of morbid curiosity. The sort of thing where one was unable to look away from a disaster as it happened. But there was something else to it.

Pyrrha had noticed that she had been avoiding things, and Markus had been keeping things from her, with the justification that she would be happier not knowing. Well, here she was. Knowing she'd be better off not knowing, but deciding she wanted to know more than she cared about being happy, Pyrrha had made the decision to look.

Beyond even that slightly childish motivation to be more adult, Pyrrha felt that she could not simply shut her eyes to what was happening because she was not prepared to witness it. If it was going to happen, she felt that at the very least had a responsibility to see it, and not pretend it didn't exist. She was not sure whether that made sense, but that was her general feeling. A rather convoluted mix of emotions and motivations all leading her to watch a firefight unfold.

It had begun with Markus shooting several of the 80's from behind faster than should have been possible, even with Aura (she _still_ hadn't remembered to ask about that,) before the rest scrambled for the scant pieces of cover that afforded them protection from the fire incoming from both directions.

While Pyrrha was not terribly far away from the action, she still could not see too many of the gory details. People went down, blood flowed. There was none of the viscera and mentally scarring images.

Unexpectedly, she didn't have any kind of gut reaction to seeing them die. It didn't seem real. She had to look at the shapes on the ground, and tell herself, _"These were people. They're dead now."_ Even then, it took a moment for what that actually meant to sink in.

Death is not an easy thing to comprehend. Pyrrha seemed to be getting a crash course in it. Rather than approach it on a philosophical level, Pyrrha's initial reaction was one of physical empathy. She imagined what the sensation would be like to feel herself drowning in her own blood. Lying on the ground, mortally wounded knowing that she was not going to survive. Would she panic? Or would she accept it, and try to die in a dignified manner?

Pyrrha had had something of an analogous experience. She had faced death on the top of the CCT tower. In her own mind however, she somewhat discounted that, as at the time she hadn't quite believed what was happening. When she was finally facing the execution by bow, Pyrrha had been so unable to comprehend it that the entire thing had felt like a dream.

As well, with the whole mess that had preceded it, she had went up there very nearly willing to die. Having survived the experience, she had become much more appreciative of her existence. Even if she was now stranded on this barren hellscape where she was near useless. At least she knew where she stood. While she still did not know everything about the place she had ended up in, she had a reasonable idea of what was going on. The feelings of helplessness and desperation that had plagued her last days on Remnant were at the very least gone. Here she was not a pawn in games she didn't understand.

As the 80's broke from their initial cover to seek better cover from Markus' fire, the fire coming down the hill picked up. The "Dead Horses" as Markus had informed her they were called, were apparently one of the tribes of Zion and were friendly, despite their rather ominous name. While they were difficult to see, being further away, most of them were armed with pistols that reminded Pyrrha of Ren's.

The thought of her teammate made Pyrrha wonder what exactly was going on on Remnant right now. Things had been in an utter mess when they had left. She wondered what Ren and Nora thought had happened to them. _"Probably not this,"_ she thought to herself.

As several of the 80's were hit by the Dead Horses, Pyrrha wondered if she and Markus had been presumed dead. She found the idea that there was a gravestone with her name on it somewhere eerie.

All of the 80's had made it to cover, even the ones that had been hit. Pyrrha saw some of them heal themselves with stimpacks, while others tended to their injuries more conventionally. The sight of the various gunshot wounds, even from the distance, made Pyrrha feel sympathetic pain. She knew what it felt like, though she had only been conscious briefly. All the blood as well, made for a haunting image.

She wondered why only some of them had stimpacks. They seemed like something that would be invaluable without Aura. Pyrrha could scarcely imagine how one could possibly survive getting shot without one of them.

The sun beat heavily on Pyrrha's back as the firefight continued. After the initial casualties to the 80's caused by Markus' surprise appearance, it had devolved into a static exchange of fire. While Markus was advancing and moving further to the right of the hostile tribe, there was no quick progress.

Pyrrha realized something. She could see one of the 80's. He didn't see her, given that he was wasn't looking in her direction and wasn't aware there was a strangely dressed girl hiding behind a rock in the area.

He fired sporadically at the Dead Horses, keeping several of them suppressed, while he was shielded from crossfire from Markus why a large rock.

Pyrrha was not entirely sure what she was doing when she aimed the M14 at him. She aligned the scope on him. What was she doing? Was she going do this? Could she do this?

There was a gunshot.

Pyrrha lowered her weapon in shock. She had not pulled the trigger. Though, as she saw what was once the head of a Dead Horse tribesman sink to the ground, she wished she had.

She turned behind her cover and sunk to the ground. Any thought of influencing or observing the battle was gone from her mind.

She hadn't had the courage to pull the trigger, and now someone was dead. Well, someone would have been dead in anycase, but she had had a choice. She had had a choice who lived and who died. She had the ability to choose whether the good person lived, or the bad one. And through her inability to pull the _fucking_ trigger. She had as good as killed an innocent person.

She felt like the lowest form of life. She had never failed this badly before. To be so directly responsible for the fact that someone else, a good person was dead was so painful. She _wanted_ to be a good person. She had tried. And this is what she had ended up with. Blood on her hands.

This was even worse than Penny. While she had known Penny well enough that her death was a personal loss, in this instance, unlike then, she bore total responsibility. There was no outside force arranging the death of her victim. A man had died because of her. And she hated herself for it. Pyrrha sat behind her rock as the tears flowed and a firefight raged behind her.


	109. Chapter 109 - The Great Crusade

Chapter 109 - The Great Crusade

The Courier had not lightly made the decision to leave Pyrrha alone. Given her...helplessness, Markus was highly uncomfortable letting her out of his sight, especially in a combat situation. But, given how well the last engagement had gone, it was safer than the alternative. While he was unable to keep an eye on her, she was at least now not under fire. Or near any grenades.

While it might have seemed overprotective or downright paranoid of him not to want to let Pyrrha out of his sight, the Courier did not see it that way. He considered her totally incapable of defending herself. Whether or not that was strictly true was something he was not really sure about, but was ultimately irrelevant. Pyrrha's safety was something he was willing to err on the side of caution for. Therefore he operated under the assumption that should anything happen to her, she would not be able to defend herself. This meant that should anyone hostile come across her, she would be dead. Or worse, but he preferred not to think about that.

With this in mind, it was much more reasonable for him to be uncomfortable leaving Pyrrha alone than it would be in other circumstances. But it was much better than having her involved in this firefight. Without being concerned about her safety, the Courier could fight much more effectively.

His opening salvo from the Z-M LR-300 put four of the 80's down each with two shots to the chest and one to the head with VATS. They scrambled for cover from him as soon as he had opened fire. A few of them were hit as they were exposed to the fire of the Dead Horses.

The 80's were in a bad position now. Under fire from two directions and outnumbered. Still, they were a cut above the average raiders, and had succeeded in finding cover that prevented the Courier from simply picking them off.

Using the rocky and jagged terrain of the base of the mountain, the Courier left his original position, moving to flank the 80's once again. He moved stealthily and decisively. It was a favorite tactic of his. Cause the enemy to lose track of you, reposition on their flank, and open up on them while they're exposed.

Everything went smoothly in this instance as well. Suppressed from the Dead Horses' fire, the 80's had no chance at noticing his movement. He swapped his assault rifle for an MP5.

Moving into close quarters, the Courier opened up on the nearest enemy, the SMG rounds tearing through his center of mass. He assaulted quickly and brutally, fluidly moving from one target to the next, drilling each of them with more a than sufficient number of rounds to keep them down.

The low range of visibility due to the terrain favored this form of close-quarters combat. His ability to react first combined with the fact that the 80's had been scattered meant that he was able to easily to pick them off, one by one. Despite this, he did at one point have rounds spark off of his pauldron, causing more annoyance than anything else.

All in all, the 80's were swiftly eliminated. With the Courier free to maneuver and take risks and the 80's pinned down from heavy fire further up the hill, even their unusually advanced tactics and coordination could not save them.

Now, he just needed to figure out how to tell the Dead Horses not to shoot them.

Considering the firing had stopped, it appeared they were luckily not using a shoot first ask questions later policy. The Courier was still standing behind the cover of one of the 80's, with the man's body at his feet. He dematerialized the MP5, and got out A Light Shining in Darkness. If he was going to meet the Dead Horses, the weapon was an appropriate one to wield.

He had an idea. It was a risky idea, and probably a bad one, but he could afford to take risks.

The Courier simply stepped out from behind his cover, into the open, his duster blowing dramatically behind him. He walked impetuously towards where he had left Pyrrha, totally not acknowledging the presence of the Dead Horses.

Considering he had made it over to Pyrrha without being shot at, it seemed to be working. Pyrrha was sitting against the rock with her knees against her chest. That was an odd way to sit.

"Pyrrha," he said at normal speaking volume, "It's over, time to meet the locals."

He took her hand and helped/pulled her to her feet. Her eyes looked a bit red. There were a few reasons that could be, and none of them were good. But he didn't have time to ask about that at the moment. He would ask about it later, or if it was pressing, Pyrrha would bring it up.

They walked casually towards where the Dead Horses peeked out from cover. Well, he walked casually, Pyrrha walked rather nervously until he told her to act natural. At which point she loosened up slightly and ceased looking around like she expected an ambush, but still exuded an error of unconfidence and unease.

There was something he needed to mention before he started talking with the tribe.

"The story is that I found you in a Vault," Markus whispered to her, "Try not to mention anything specific about your past."

"Why?"

"It's probably better no one here know about Remnant. God knows what they'd do to it."

The idea of the bad people of Earth finding Remnant was not an attractive idea. While the Dead Horses were by no means bad people, anyone knowing about Remnant meant that the knowledge of its existence would be spread. While it's unlikely that they would actually believe it, the Courier felt he had no reason to take any chances with this. A small lie was a small price to pay for security.

As he approached the Dead Horses, they lowered their weapons, and low murmuring developed among them. So they recognized him. Good. That should make things easier.

The words "Courier" and mix of words in their creole.

"Hello," said Markus neutrally, "What are you doing so far from Zion?"

He looked around, but didn't recognize any of the tribesmen.

They murmured some more in their creole before one of them came forward to speak. He spoke English proficiently enough. Perhaps it was a part of their doctrine to put at least one who spoke the language of the "owslandrs" with each party.

"The 80's took advantage of the weak Legion and White Legs. They came to Zion. We sent them back. Joshua told us that we must defeat them finally else they will just come back."

Hmm. So the Burned Man was having the Dead Horses conduct a war. Daniel's concerns about increasing militancy of the tribes may well end up being well founded. However the Courier could see Graham's point. The Dead Horses had defeated the 80's once. With the advantage they could now use that to gain a decisive victory that would end the threat they posed to Zion.

"Where is Joshua?"

"He remains in Zion, coordinating the various groups."

"And are you headed back there?"

The tribesman looked to the shrouded bodies of some of his comrades, lying a little way from where the conversation was taking place.

"Yes...yes we are."

"Good. I'll accompany you. I have news for him."

With that, Markus and Pyrrha joined with the Dead Horses scouting party.

The Courier walked through the group, whispers following him wherever he went. Hardly anyone paid the slightest bit of attention to Pyrrha, despite the strangeness of her attire. Emerging on the other side of the group, he walked behind a rock before turning to Pyrrha and relaxing. The sun was now setting. He took off the helmet of his armor, exhaling.

The group would not likely move till sunrise. He would get the details of their modus operandi from their leader later. For now, he had to answer to Pyrrha. What the questions were, he wasn't sure. While he was generally quite good at reading people, he noticed that he had virtually no ability to tell what Pyrrha was going to ask him. Probably because of how many choices she had.

She certainly had enough material to go on all night just asking about various things.

The Courier was more right than he wanted to be.


	110. Chapter 110 - Filtered

Chapter 110 - Filtered

"Who are they?"

Pyrrha's voice was hushed, but more concernedly, unsettlingly deadened.

As they walked away from the Dead Horses' camp, Markus filled her in.

"The Dead Horses, a tribe made up of the descendants of tourists to Dead Horse Point, a state park further North."

Both of them kept their volume down, each with their own reasons for doing so.

"What language are they speaking?"

"A creole formed from a mix of the languages the tourists spoke. It's not spoken outside their tribe."

"How do they know you?"  
 _Because I exterminated a tribe for them._ But that wasn't what he was going to tell Pyrrha.

"The Legion had told a tribe called the White Legs to destroy them. I helped them."

"And who is Joshua?"

 _The Malpais Legate, an infamously brutal commander that would have hanged at Nuremberg. Also known as the mythical Burned Man, a vengeful spirit._ But that wasn't what he was going to tell Pyrrha.

"Joshua Graham is their warleader. They have given him total authority in regards to how they conduct their wars, despite the fact he's an outsider."

They stopped a short distance away from the tribe, both taking a seat on some low rocks, facing one another. The sky was nearly dark. While the sun had not yet set, beyond the actual horizon, the mountain blocked its light.

"Why do you want me to not mention Remnant?"

"I told you, I don't want the kinds of people who cause problems here to start getting involved on Remnant."

"What am I supposed to do if they start asking questions?"

"You need a story."

The Courier began to think one up. He knew Pyrrha was not a great liar, so he knew he needed to come up with something that she would not have to lie much about.

"We'll use the idea that I found you in a Vault. The story can be that it was an experiment with stasis and you've been in there since the Great War. That'll give you a good reason not to know anything about how things are."

"But what if they ask about how things used to be?"

"You can tell them just about anything and they won't know better. Besides, things were pretty similar to how things are on Remnant before the bombs fell. Only without Grimm, Dust, and Faunus of course."

"Alright...I can probably do that," Pyrrha said somewhat hesitantly.

"Well, it's not like they'd ever expect the truth. They have no reason to believe Remnant exists."

If Pyrrha simply told the truth, no one would take it seriously. But even the idea that Remnant was out there could be dangerous.

"So how did _you_ find Remnant if no one knows about it?"

 _God knows. The odds of the Transportalponder malfunctioning in such a way that it connects to a world with breathable atmosphere and humans that speak english is absolutely inexplicable._ But that wasn't what he was going to tell Pyrrha.

"I got unlucky. Or lucky. I suppose it depends on how you look at it. I was testing a device that allowed teleportation. I was ambushed, the device was damaged, and I somehow ended up on Remnant."

"Ambushed, by who?"

"A group called the Enclave. You know how I mentioned I fought two wars? One was against them. Descendants of a conspiracy within this place's pre-war government, they are little more than fascists."

 _Genocidal_ fascists.

"Do we have to worry about them?"

Pyrrha didn't sound pleased at the prospect.

"No, they are highly weakened and on the other end of the continent."

There was a lull in the conversation. Darkness had fallen as they had spoke. The stars were visible.

"The Dead Horses said something when they saw you. It wasn't in their language," she paused, "Courier. What does it mean?"

If Markus had been feeling particularly snarky, and had Pyrrha not been as emotionally vulnerable as she was, he might have answered with the definition of the word "Courier." As it was, it he gave her the information she wanted to know.

"It means me. In this area of the wasteland, I'm known either as 'Courier Six,' or more commonly, just as 'The Courier.'"

"Why?"

 _Why was he so hesitant to use his name, to the point that everyone in both wastelands knew him as a title?_ He wasn't entirely sure himself. Perhaps it was that he didn't want his actions associated with himself. Perhaps it was a way of dehumanizing himself in his own eyes. But that wasn't what he was going to tell Pyrrha.

"The label seemed to stick much more than my name. Probably because people could say, 'I just spoke with Courier Six,' and people who didn't know who I was would understand what that meant, as opposed to them saying they had meant some guy named Markus."

"But why did they call you Courier?"

 _Because 'the Courier' has become some kind of messianic figure. A murderous Messiah. Fitting for the wasteland._ But that wasn't what he was going to tell Pyrrha.

"Because I was one. Briefly, and for not entirely clear reasons."

"You don't know why you were a Courier? Surely you made the decision yourself?"

"Well, I lost several months worth of memories on account of being shot twice in the head."

The was another break in conversation before Pyrrha exhaled heavily.

"I don't want to be here."

"That makes two of us."

"At least you're used...to all this," she gestured vaguely, "I don't know how to deal with...any of it."

The Courier could empathize, and tried to be comforting.

"Just stick to your story, and don't worry too much. The worst is behind us."

That, at least, was something he could say with confidence. It could hardly get any worse than being stuck in Legion territory.

"What are we even doing here."

Pyrrha sounded pitiably helpless. Tired and miserable. It was less of a proper question, and more of a rhetorical one, expressing the pointlessness of it all.

"We're making our way to a place in which the device that took us here can be repaired so that we can go back to Remnant.

"It's going to be weird going back. None of them will know. None of them will understand…" Pyrrha became quieter as the sentence ended.

It was funny, in a sad sort of way, how Pyrrha sentiment echoed his own upon arrival to Remnant. She realized how much they had been sheltered from.

"I hope they never have to. And I had hoped you wouldn't either."

Pyrrha laughed uncharacteristically bitterly.

"And I had hoped I wouldn't almost die, have to become Maiden, kill Penny, or mangle you. So much for hopes."

Markus was becoming concerned for this change in Pyrrha. He worried that she was becoming more cynical. While being cynical was not necessarily a bad thing, bad things often happened when someone swung from idealism to cynicism in a short period of time. A sudden change in philosophy and worldview could cause them to end up virtually anywhere along that sliding scale of beliefs.

On a more personal level, he didn't want Pyrrha to end up jaded and miserable, losing all innocence and happiness. Seeing her suffering was not a good feeling. While it was never great to see anyone suffer, he felt it much more acutely in this instance as he knew Pyrrha much more personally.

"Actually...how did that happen?"

Pyrrha was asking a question.

"Sorry, how did what happen?"

"When I...with my Semblance…" Pyrrha had swung back to an attitude in which she was now uncomfortable speaking directly about the incident. These outbursts of pessimism were not healthy.

"Why did it affect you like that?" she asked.

 _Because my entire skeleton is reinforced with metal, and my heart is mechanical._ But that was what he was going to have to tell Pyrrha.


	111. Chapter 111 - The Stranger

Chapter 111 - The Stranger

Markus didn't really think this was something he could sugar-coat. The fact that he was nearly as much machine as he was man would not be any less dramatic and horrifying revelation no matter how he phrased it.

Truthfully, it was not something he was comfortable with, and something that Pyrrha would be even more uncomfortable with. He felt that because he was so heavily modified by technology that he was not as human as a normal person. And the idea that he was less than human bothered him, and far more so than he would ever admit. While it was an understandable sentiment, it was not quite a rational one.

Despite the fact that having a large amount of metal and electronics in one's body was strange, there was no reason he should feel diminished as a person because of it. It did not have any material effect on his identity so logically it should not have changed how he viewed himself.

Nevertheless, he felt that he had become some kind of abomination of science. Markus' opinion of himself had never really been based on logic, and here that was evident. How he felt about himself was based on feelings, and emotions he felt, gut reactions as opposed to objective measures.

Part of the feeling stemmed from his motivations for the modifications. He had, quite simply, done this for power. The Lone Courier had taken every opportunity he had had to increase his own power, regardless of the personal consequences.

This perspective was not a fair and objective one, but it was the one that the Courier held. He did not hold himself in high regard. Much like many other ideas he had about himself, it oversimplified complicated issues and provided only an incomplete picture of his motivations.

"I have…" he said before he trailed off, realizing that sentence was not going anywhere and how no potential to go anywhere he wanted it to.

Pyrrha raised an eyebrow at him trailing off. It was an unusual occurrence for him to be at a loss for words and she knew it.

That was not a great start. He should probably provide some kind of context to his decisions. Just opening with the fact that he had had a whole bunch of cybernetics implanted probably would not go over amazingly. First he would use some of the methods he had used to try and justify what he had done to himself. Lord knew he had enough material.

"As I think you've gathered, the stakes are a lot higher here. Since no one has Aura, there's a very good chance that if you get hit, you will die. And as you've seen, there's a very good chance you will be hit."

It may have been a little too soon to joke about Pyrrha getting shot, but considering that she would not experience any long term physical issues as a result of it, and he knew, despite his best efforts, she was probably going to get hit again, it was better not to dance around the issue.

"Here, the lack of Aura is the great equalizer. A White Fang foot soldier could never pose any kind of threat to a Huntsman. Not even to a Huntsman in training. Here, the best in world, most skilled operative can get killed by some kid with no training. The things done for training at Beacon would be entirely lethal here."

Markus was actually stalling with a lot of this. He was just giving vague generalizations about things he had already told Pyrrha in order to buy time to figure out what he was going to say. And Pyrrha called him on it.

"While you are succeeding at making me more terrified of this place, I don't see what this has to do with why my Semblance did what it did."

While Pyrrha had talked about many other things quite willingly, she remained staunchly unwilling to talk directly about the time she had nearly killed him. He wasn't entirely sure why. It wasn't like he had been the most gory thing she had ever seen. Perhaps it was that she thought she was directly responsible? Or perhaps it was that she knew him personally, and thus something that gory happening to someone she knew affected her more.

"I'm providing context, so that I can provide background, so I can provide an answer."

This was true, and was in fact his strategy. He simply neglected to mention that he was also doing it in this order because he didn't have a proper answer yet.

"Why don't you do it the other way around and just get to the point?"

"That's what've I've done previously, and you've reacted badly, so I'm trying it the other way this time."

This was also true. He was now taking proper considerations to how Pyrrha might react to information, and pre-empting the explanation.

"Can you try to make this not take all night?"

Pyrrha sounded genuinely tired. It was funny how despite the drama of the situation, basic, mundane human needs were consistently superior.

"No promises."

Markus felt that at least some levity was needed to prevent this from becoming overly grave in tone.

"Anyway, Considering I spend my time here intentionally walking into firefights, I've needed every advantage possible to survive. In order to do so, I did things to improve myself physically, beyond what was possible conventionally."

There was a beat of silence.

"How?"

Another pause.

"Cybernetic augmentation."

The conversation continued, with short pauses between each sentence as the two watched to see how the other would react.

"How much?"

The Courier did not want to have to give her an itemized list. That would be more impactful than some vaguery that was true, but not specific enough for proper mental images to form. He imagined that having to outright say he didn't really have a heart and instead had machinery would not go over well.

"Extensive."

"Oh."

Silence. Then, Pyrrha shrugged.

The Courier was slightly incredulous.

"Is that it? No panic? No dramatic reaction?"

Pyrrha waved it away, and started to prepare to sleep.

"It's not _that_ big of a deal. Besides, I'd rather sleep than react at this point."

The Courier was massively relieved at how well this had gone. Now, Pyrrha knew most of the shocking things about him. And as far as he could tell, she didn't hate him, or want him dead. That, by his metric, was a resounding success. He had not properly estimated how much this journey was taking out of Pyrrha. He supposed it would be difficult for him to imagine, going from using Aura for everything to suddenly not having it. There was one last thing he needed to mention.  
"Well I guess the system works," Markus said smugly, "From now on, I'll just explain everything in detail _before_ answering you."

"I'm sure I'll be annoyed by that in twenty-four hours," Pyrrha said, "But for now, I couldn't care less."


	112. Chapter 112 - Compartmentalization

Chapter 112 - Compartmentalization

While Pyrrha _was_ actually tired, that was not the only reason she didn't want to not be doing things. The reason she did not really care about the fact that her closest friend had "extensive" cybernetic modifications was that the death on her conscience weighed so heavily that nothing else seemed to much matter.

She was somewhat surprised by her own lack of emotional reaction to the revelation. It was a suitable explanation with understandable reasons behind it. It did explain some things, such as how Markus has survived so long out here, and indeed how he had killed so many people. No matter how terrible Pyrrha found the idea of taking a life, she knew that simply on a technical level it was not an easy thing to do.

But Pyrrha could not actually react to the new information due to how dramatically her failure to act had impacted her. She was in a state of shock and near disbelief at the matter. She knew what had happened. It was very simple. _Someone had died, and it was her fault._

But the words seemed hollow somehow. She couldn't quite feel their meaning. She knew what they meant, and she knew how she was supposed to be feeling. She was supposed to feel bad about her failure. But in the end, the only thing she felt was the emotional equivalent of a stunned silence. It took time for the full force of Pyrrha's self judgement and horror to seep in.

While superficially, the situation was similar to Penny's death, there were many reasons this was even more soul-crushing to Pyrrha.

The first was the fact that no matter how human Penny had seemed, she had been a machine. Pyrrha hadn't known this at the time of the incident, and in the moment had been totally bewildered. She had not known what had happened or why it had happened. Furthermore, she had, from that point in time, been bombarded with enough issues to allow her to shelve the event. By the time she had been around to actually have to deal with the subject emotionally, Markus had told her that none of it was her fault, and was actually part of an enemy conspiracy.

While this did not totally remove all guilt and pain from her conscience when she thought back to the incident, she could easily shift the blame to the enemy, and focus on vengeance rather than self loathing.

Furthermore, while Penny's death had been horrific, and the literal stuff of nightmares, it was not as graphic as the death of a human. It was something hardwired into the human brain, an aversion to corpses. It was why the Uncanny Valley effect existed. The visage of a dead or dying person was always unsettling to the living. And the image of this tribesman's head snapping backwards as he was hit with a spray of fluids coming from the exit wound was now burned with prominence into her retinas. Her eyes open or closed, she could not escape it.

There was another reason Pyrrha had not been this affected by Penny's death. Pyrrha did not know what she had done. There was no decision she had made at the time, even with the benefit of hindsight, that really could have made any difference. While it had been done by her hands, she had had no agency or any basic understanding of what was going on.

With this, the opposite was true.

She had _known_ what would happen. She _knew_ the consequences. Well, that wasn't entirely true, but she knew why the enemy needed to be killed: they would kill you otherwise. But she had made a decision. She had had the choice between having the blood of an enemy of her hands or that of a friend. And through inaction, she had chosen the latter.

With that phrasing, Pyrrha had inadvertently broken the dam that held her crushing self-loathing and blame on the issue. It cascaded around her as she lay there, where she was supposed to fall asleep, crying and feeling totally unworthy of life.

Who was she to be a hero? She couldn't even be a decent person. She couldn't do what was necessary when it had counted. In the moment of truth, she had not been able to act. She was a failure.

Despite her condition, Pyrrha made a point to make no noise. For whatever reason, she was determined not to let Markus know about this. Whether it was because she feared he would hate her for what she had done or whether it was because the last remnants of her pride and self-worth demanded she not run crying to her partner, she did not know. It was because of that singular objective that she managed to pull herself together. Under the cause of concealing her problems, she managed to stop crying and go to sleep.

Pyrrha was relieved to find that she had slept soundly through the night, not bothered by any nightmares of her guilt. She did her very best to act normal and focus entirely on the routine. She did her best to avoid everything to do with emotions, ignoring them by doing other things, such as paying enough attention to her surroundings to dull her mind.

The tribespeople themselves were strange. They seemed quite primitive in their ways, and despite their armaments, had an almost childlike innocence. While Pyrrha would have liked to get to know some of them, just so that she was not so isolated in this strange world, she never really had the opportunity to as they all maintained a respectful distance from her, and more specifically Markus. The only one that really approached and spoke to him was the Dead Horses' leader, who Markus addressed comfortably. Despite Marus' relatively friendliness with the tribe in the few occasions in which they interacted with each other, Pyrrha felt a certain degree of reverence towards markus from them. And it made her uncomfortable.

However the journey eased massively upon joining the scouting party. Not only were they moving at slower pace due to the size of the group, but the presence of the group in and of itself brought Pyrrha a long-absent feeling of safety and security. Returning to the tribe's home in Zion meant they were now traveling through friendly territory. Pyrrha saw the land swiftly change from craggy land and dusty desert to more rocky ground with living flora.

At long last, they ended up climbing what seemed to be a tall hill after a few days of travel. Markus had told her that they were nearing Zion. Pyrrha had kept herself busy by calculating how far they had gone. It had been eleven days since they had first arrived here. She could hardly believe it. It somehow both felt like an eternity and no time at all. Using some averages of how long they walked each day and the average walking speed, Pyrrha had determined they had walked roughly two-hundred and seventy miles. That was a quite an achievement. And soon, she would see what all had been for.

As they stood upon the heights overlooking Zion, Pyrrha saw the first thing here that she could consider aesthetically pleasing. It certainly made an impression.

Towering cliffs provided a cinematic view of green valleys and glittering streams of Zion. Here, Pyrrha saw something that seemed familiar. This landscape, though something she had not seen before, was vibrant, and full of life. This place would not have looked out of place on Remnant. It was like she had found a little piece of home. Though this world may have been dead, Zion was very much alive. Perhaps here, she could finally get some kind of mental stability. Here, in peace, she could face what she had been avoiding and achieve some kind of closure.

Then Markus said something, though, from his tone, recited would have been a more appropriate adjective.

"For the Lord comforts Zion; he comforts all her waste places and makes her wilderness like Eden, her desert like the garden of the Lord; joy and gladness will be found in her, thanksgiving and the voice of song."

Pyrrha was unsure what that meant. It sounded religious. SHe was about to ask, when an unfamiliar voice said,

"Isaiah, 51:3"


	113. Chapter 113 - The Fate of the Messengers

Chapter 113 - The Fates of the Messengers

"Follows-Chalk. I see Joshua's been teaching you the scripture," Markus said amicably.

"Daniel actually, Joshua's been pretty busy lately. I had heard you were coming and came to meet you. You haven't been here in nearly a year Courier. What brings you back to Zion?"

Pyrrha looked on silently, not being familiar with many of the subjects mentioned. She found this to be an opportunity to see how Markus interacted with people in this world.

"I wish I could say it was to visit, but an experiment with portals left me stranded deep in Legion territory, so I headed to the nearest place I knew to be friendly."

He wasn't telling the whole truth, but he was telling the most recent bit.

"I heard it's a real mess out there, what with the Legion's disorganization."

While it was a mess, Pyrrha didn't feel that much of it could be attributed to the state of the Legion. She felt that most of it had to do with the desolate terrain and apocalypse.

"I stayed clear of their settlements and encampments so I didn't see much. A substantial amount of troops were on the move West though."

"Legionnaires moving West?"

"Yes, in strategically significant numbers. Do you know why?"

"We know nothing about this."

The young tribal looked troubled underneath his facepaint.

"Joshua needs to be informed."

"Alright, let's go," said Markus.

Seemingly for the first time, Follows-Chalk appeared to notice Pyrrha.

"Is she with you?"

"Yes, I found her in a prototype Vault from before the war in stasis since then."

Right, her story. She needed to remember that. Pyrrha resolved to do her best to avoid answering questions. The less actual information she had to give, the less she had to remember.

Follows-Chalk's eyes lit up upon hearing this. And Pyrrha was bombarded with a barrage of questions.

"What was it like? How did you end up in a Vault? Is it true the buildings were as tall as the sky?"

Before Pyrrha could make sense of the flurry of inquiry, much less formulate a response, Markus saved her from having to.

"It might be best to hold off on the questions for now. She's not taking the whole nuclear apocalypse well."

The tribal nodded in mollified understanding and gestured for them to follow him down the cliffs.

It took the better part of an hour for them to reach the bottom of the cliff, and it further took them another hour before they reached the entrance to a cave. The journey had been quiet, with Markus and Follows-Chalk making sporadic smalltalk about people and places she was unfamiliar with. As they approached the opening in the rock, Pyrrha could hear the murmuring of the surrounding tribespeople, all of them looking (and some of them pointing) at Markus. She heard the word "Courier" more than a few times. At the entrance of the cave, Follows-Chalk made a weak excuse that he had to go do something or other and left, leaving Markus to lead her into the cave.

It was a large cave, a dark maw in the side of sheer sandstone cliff. As they entered it properly, Pyrrha could see that it was lit by various torches and contained more tribals that took notice of her partner. Pyrrha found a bit of irony that he was receiving here a treatment similar to that which she had received at home. Only, the tribals were more discreet and maintained a respectful distance from him.

They walked past the tents in the interior of the cavern into a larger room, that contained only two occupants. This room was lit by gas lamps, with several of them placed around to ensure visibility. In it, was a man leaning against a wall in a wide brimmed hat and a plaid shirt, holding a book, and a man covered entirely, head and all, in bandages, sitting at a table inspecting pistols, one after another. The latter spoke.

"Even after the defeat of the Legion at Hoover Dam and the death of Lanius, I must admit that you are still not the Courier I was expecting."

The voice that emanated from the man was deep and authoritative.

"If I didn't know better, I'd say you were paranoid, said Markus.

That elicited a chuckle from him.

"Speaking of Ulysses, I heard you finally found him. Word of your journey to the Divide has spread, though news of its outcome has not."

"Ulysses left the Legion even before I first arrived in Zion. You had nothing more to fear from him. All his hatred and anger had become centered on me."

"It is rare for the Legion to have deserters."

"Funnily enough, they mostly seem to be its founding members."

"So tell me, what was the fate of Ulysses."

"Ironically, he seems to be taking a path similar to your own. While he has not found God, I have convinced him that the NCR would succeed in rebuilding civilization."

"You seem intent on making that a self-fulfilling prophecy."

"That was the only reason he believed me."

"Now, there must be some reason you have returned to Zion."

"I ended up deep in Legion territory after an experiment involving teleportation, and headed to the nearest friendly place. The reason I came to see you specifically, is that large numbers of Legion troops are moving West."

The Burned Man mulled that over for a second before turning his gaze to Pyrrha. His bright, gray-blue eyes met hers, and Pyrrha felt uncomfortably scrutinized. Around his eyes she saw twisted and scarred skin that made her feel uncomfortable to think about what would have caused it.

"Who is this?"

Markus repeated the line about her origins that he had given to Follows-Chalk, almost verbatim, adding to it,

"Perhaps you can have someone take her to talk to the Sorrows? They might be helpful to getting her adjusted, considering the similarity in circumstances."

Joshua nodded and said, "That will be arranged."

Markus switched topics, and the attitude in the room suddenly changed.

"I need to talk to you about the militarization of the Dead Horses."

There was a tense pause as the Burned Man momentarily paused his inspection of the weapons to make eye contact with Markus.

"They're defending themselves, and their homes. They are willing to fight for their Holy Land as the Israelites were."

Markus responded in a flat tone.

"Graham, what you're doing here is you are taking a tribe and teaching them how to wage total war in order to defeat their enemies."

There was a pause before the burned man spoke.

"I am not Caesar."

"No, but you _were_ the Malpais Legate, and you _are_ the Burned Man."

"I am not who I once was. I know the values of mercy, and peace."

"Good. Then this war needs to be ended as soon as possible."

"If that's the case, then you had better speak to Follows-Chalk. He can tell you what you need to know to help end this."

Markus turned to Pyrrha and said, "You'll be safe in Zion. I'll check up on you soon. I should get this resolved before we move on."

Then he left. Pyrrha suddenly felt very alone.

With that, she was left alone with the two of them.

She wasn't quite sure what to say, but was spared the need to by the two of them launching into an intense discussion about her partner the second he left earshot.

"I don't like him being here."

The other one was speaking. He had been silent while Joshua and Markus had talked. She presumed he was talking about her partner.

"He's less militant than _I_ am, Daniel."

So that was the Daniel that Follows-Chalk had mentioned.

"Your militancy is tempered by your guilt and your faith. He makes the choices that you won't."

While much of the conversation was going over Pyrrha's head, she still managed to glean information about both the Burned Man and her partner. Markus was someone who had killed over a thousand people personally, and Joshua considered himself _more_ militant than Markus? That seemed impossible.

"For he is God's servant for your good. But if you do wrong, be afraid, for he does not bear the sword in vain. For he is the servant of God, an avenger who carries out God's wrath on the wrongdoer."

Pyrrha was not quite sure what that meant, but it was clear that Joshua was quoting some religious text.

"And all who take the sword will perish by the sword. You know what the tribes call him? You know what their name for them is?"

Joshua was silent. Daniel was on a roll.  
"They call you the Burned Man. Consider you a teacher and a leader. But him, him they don't. They call him the Bringer of War. They consider him an entity, a god of violence and vengeance. And they have reason to call him that. Because he brought them war."

That sounded bad, but Pyrrha did not believe it, or at least believe that it was the whole and objective truth. No matter how emotionally compromised she was, she was not going to take the general condemnation of her best friend by a total stranger as totally valid. But it did plant the question in her mind, as to why actually that he was called "the Bringer of War," by the tribes.

"The White Legs brought the war. The Legion brought the war. It was not this Courier that brought the war. It was the Legion's Courier."

The Legion had a Courier? Perhaps it was the Courier they had discussed previously? Ulysses?

"There was a choice! We could have evacuated them. Instead we sacrificed their innocence for land, and brought them death, pain, and war."

There was another period of painful silence. The Burned Man met Daniel's righteous anger with calm reasoning.

"Tell me Daniel. What nation can survive without the ability to defend itself? What nation can survive without the ability to fight a war?"

Pyrrha found this applicable to Remnant. Vale could not fight a war, and could not defend itself. And it had paid a price in blood for it.

"This war was unnecessary! We could simply have left!"

"Fled to Dead Horse point? And what then, when the Legion and the White Legs have pursued us there?"

"You don't know that they would…"

Joshua cut off Daniel.

"We all know the Legion would follow us. The White Legs were given orders to kill the tribe, not capture Zion. There was no option."

Daniel visibly deflated.

"We were doomed from the start."

Joshua nodded solemnly, his eyes downcast.

Daniel then noticed that her, and realized that he had not been paying attention to his surroundings before apologizing and leading her from the cave. While Pyrrha wasn't sure, she could have sworn that the Burned Man gave her a knowing look before she left.


	114. Chapter 114 - A Walk in the Park

Chapter 114 - A Walk in the Park

Now that Pyrrha was separated from Markus, she noticed that she too was getting stares. As she and Daniel left the cave, the tribals stared indiscreetly at her. She couldn't tell if it was because of how ridiculous she looked, or simply because she was an outsider.

Once the two of them got out of earshot of the tribespeople, Daniel started talking to her.

"So, what has the Courier told you?"

Right, Daniel was under the impression that she was from this world before it had ended. That meant that he correctly assumed that she knew nothing except what she told him she knew.

"He's told me who the 80's and the Legion are, that the world ended, and that the tribes of Zion are friendly."

"Just that?"

While he had told her some more personal things, she wasn't going to tell them to Daniel, nor did she think that was what he meant when he had asked her.  
"He wasn't very specific, he only gave me a basic overview of what was going on. He seemed very focused on getting us to Zion."

"I wouldn't blame him for that. That deep in Legion territory, even he is lucky to have made it out alive."

They continued walking. To Pyrrha, the way Daniel said "even he," indicated further that even in this world, Markus was something of an anomaly. It was not regular for someone, much less someone his age, to be fighting wars, and killing as many people as he had. While Pyrrha could see from the youthful faces of some of the tribesmen that it was not unusual for people their age to fight and even kill, the scale on which Markus had done those things was incredibly rare, if not entirely unprecedented.

Daniel continued to talk on a tangent that Pyrrha was not entirely paying attention to.

"But, since this is the world you have to live in, it's best that you know how things are."

Daniel looked slightly embarrassed now.

"Considering what you overheard, I think I owe you an explanation as to what that was about, he paused for a second before continuing, "Has the Courier told you anything about what he did in Zion?"

"He just said he helped the tribes against the White Legs."

Daniel scoffed.

"'Helped', his 'help' was helping Joshua to exterminate the White Legs."

"Exterminate them?"

Exterminate was an ugly word.  
"Yes, they wiped out all members of the White Legs in Zion. While the White Legs still exist outside of Zion, they deteriorated quickly. Their unity was based on a cult of strength, similar to the Legion's. With their force and leader so thoroughly defeated, the tribe fell apart."

The walked a bit more in silence. The conversation resumed as they reached the top of a small outcropping they walked over in the process of going to their destination.

"I will give him credit for stopping Joshua from executing their leader. All the tribes were watching. Lord knows what would have happened had he executed him in cold blood in front of them."

Markus had stopped the Burned Man from executing the leader of an enemy tribe. Everything was complicated. Pyrrha was unable to make any judgements about what was right or wrong about him, and it bothered her. She always wanted to do the right things, and is both scared and frustrated her that she now could not always tell what that was. It meant that she had the very real danger of doing the wrong thing obviously. Which, accompanied with a crushing feeling of realization, Pyrrha realized she had, to a degree, already done. Her indecisiveness and person that was dead because of it filled her mind. She realized that she could find out who he was, whether or not he had a family. But she would never do that. She knew it would break her if she humanized him. Made him a person, rather than a nameless face. A mere idea of her failure, rather than the human life she had ended. Of course, she despised herself for her weakness, her unwillingness to know the truth, to face her crimes. Through the lulls in conversation during the walk, Pyrrha wallowed in her self-loathing.

As they reached the bottom of the rise, the ground level out. Small hills and foliage on their right limited visibility to only a few meters while on their left, the cliffs of Zion sharply widened, leaving a deep gap for a dozen or so meters. In that direction, the ground lowered, making it impossible to see further. Then she heard the growling.

Pyrrha disabled the safety on her M14, raising it to her shoulder and pointing it to her left, where the noise had come from. It was an ominous sound, the noise of some kind of large creature. It bore an unsettling resemblance to the noise of a Grimm. And here she was, without Aura. She had a feeling that the body armor wouldn't help her here. It was a material of fabric, with some more solid inserts. The sort of thing meant to stop bullets and give the wearer a decent chance against stabs and slashes. Not so much mauling.

A more aggressive roar sounded as the creature bounded out over the dip, running at the two of them impetuously. Without thinking, Pyrrha let off four shots, the first aimed at the lowest angle possible relative to the beast, calculated, or more realistically speaking estimated, so that the recoil of each successive shot would keep the rounds on target.

The effect of the rounds was clear when the body of the creature came to a stop just in front of the two of them, close enough that both had recoiled, fearing that the creature's blood lust would overcome its injuries.

"I thought you didn't' have much need for guns before the war?"

"We didn't, but I've had to learn quickly."

It was as good a lie as any. Vague, simple, and eminently plausible. Unfortunately, the story did not provide an explanation as to why she was actually good at shooting, rather than barely capable. But, it was unlikely anyone would actually pry too much about it. They had no reason to be suspicious of her, and Markus had given her a good enough cover story to disincentivize people from asking questions about her.

"I apologize, I really should have had some of the Dead Horses escort us."

Pyrrha nodded, keeping her eyes on the body.

"What was that?"

"A Yao-Guai, an irradiated Bear."

It looked a bit like an Ursa. A really terrible twisted Ursa. While Grimm looked evil, they did so in an aesthetically coherent way. This Yaoi-Guai thing looked like every moment of its existence was agony.

Moving on from that, both mentally and physically, Pyrrha felt a bit better about herself. She had taken out a fairly intimidating creature in this place all by herself, without any complications or help. If nothing else about this place was the same, at least she could shoot things effectively. But beyond her self-congratulation, Pyrrha saw an opportunity to get some more information on her partner, the kind of things she would be uncomfortable asking him directly.

"Is...the Courier," Pyrrha was not comfortable with referring to Markus as 'the Courier', enough so that it threw her off entirely, forcing her to rephrase her question, "Does he follow your religion?"

Daniel pondered the question for a second before responding.

"That's debatable. He claims to, though as part of a more mainstream sect. But, it's ill manners to proselytize guests and speak too much of religion in general for that matter."

So Markus was religious. Didn't expect that one.

They entered another cave, with more tribals, these speaking a different sort of creole and dress slightly, but noticeably different.

"I'll leave you in the care of Waking Cloud. She was one of my first converts and has a very good grasp of English."

Daniel pulled a woman Pyrrha assumed to be Waking Cloud aside and starting whispering to her, too quietly for Pyrrha to catch. Pyrrha tried not to look as awkward as she felt, standing in a cave surrounded by tribals. Wondering what was in store for her.


	115. Chapter 115 - Vom Kriege

Chapter 115 - Vom Kriege

Markus did not like having to leave Pyrrha on her own, but he didn't have an alternatives. In order to help the tribes resolve this conflict with the 80's, he needed to be able to go into dangerous situations, something he was unwilling to bring Pyrrha into. They were few places safer than Zion in any case. Besides, it wasn't like she was helpless. She was armed, armored and trained a using a similar weapon. His solution was one that it was safest for Pyrrha not to be involved in.

The Courier's solution to the problem was one typical of him. Kill the enemy until they're not a problem. If his concern was that the tribes were becoming overly militaristic, his strategy was to simply remove any reasons that might be necessary for the tribes to wage war. The reason Graham had given for the militancy was that a decisive offensive against the 80's could remove them as a threat.

Of course, some degree of militancy would still be needed to defend against the Legion, remnants of the White Legs, and other raiders, but Zion was far enough out of the way that only small scale conflicts would be likely. It was one of the reasons the area was so highly desired. With no outside power attempting to actively project force into the region, the tribes could safely go back to living largely as they had before the arrival of the White Legs.

The 80's were the only group aggressively expanding into the area. Therefore all he needed to do was to destroy the 80's capacity to make war. Like most things, this was easier said than done.

With the Legion, White Legs, and even to an extent the Fiends, it was a simple matter of taking out their leaders and the entire organization collapsed. With more professional organizations that had a chain of command that allowed more junior officers greater authority, such as the Enclave, destroying their ability to be a nuisance was far more complicated. The Legion was something of an exception, as while it gave Centurions authority, initiative was discouraged and the entire organization was held together almost purely around Caesar's cult of personality. More professional groups functioned differently.

These types of groups were bound together by more than charismatic leadership. Therefore it was possible for a leader to emerge and once again provide direction to the organization. This was relatively uncommon in the wasteland however.

The hostile conditions of the post-apocalypse meant that they rarely had an opportunity as the constant assault of outside forces made reforming difficult. Much more commonly, no central authority emerged and the group effectively became an insurgency as opposed to a conventional force. The fact was, the Courier knew little about the 80's other than their tactical ability.

Which was why he was going to speak to Follows-Chalk. While he found it unlikely that the Dead Horses knew the details of the 80's command structure given that he thought it unlikely for them to be ordered to do so, they still should have clues based on the manner by which the 80's operate, as well as common knowledge. Unless the 80's intentionally took steps to ensure the secrecy of their organization, it should be something that its enemies should be familiar with.

He found Follows-Chalk amongst the patrol he and Pyrrha had joined up with. They were on a small plateau against the cliff wall. A series of tents had been set up, with open fires between them, making a spread out camp. It looked lived-in, with old piles of ashes half scattered in various places around it. As he approached Follows-Chalk, he quickly saw what the young man was looking at.

The injured from the scouting party were receiving proper medical care and surgery, beyond the battlefield medicine that had been used to keep them mobile. The modern medicine taught to them by the New Canaanites combined with their tribal techniques passed down from the Survivalist meant that the healers of the tribes had become adept enough that it was rare for anyone to die of their wounds.

But slightly behind the area in which the living stood, shrouded litters held the bodies of the dead. The Courier felt a familiar feeling of guilt. He felt it every time that he fought a battle and good people died. It hadn't gone away, and he couldn't tell if it had lessened. He had gotten better at dealing with it. And by "dealing with it," he meant ignoring it.

To Markus, the idea that he could have saved someone but didn't was unbearable. He could have spent an eternity agonizing over each instance. So instead, he chose to ignore the issue entirely. He walked up next to Follows-Chalk, and spoke quietly.

"I've decided to help with the 80's. What information do you have?"

Follows-Chalk turned, and gestured for him to follow. After they were out of earshot of the camp, he said,

"I'll show you what we've found out."

A few seconds later, he turned sharply to the right, disappearing into a cave, that had previously been invisible from other angles.

The Courier followed him. The interior was dark for a split second before Follows-Chalk ignited a gas lamp, illuminating the area.

The interior of the cave was actually quite small, with it containing nothing but a small table in its center. Markus approached it to get a better look what was on it.

"It's our map," said Follows-Chalk, "the scouts record their information on it."

"These," he pointed at marked points, "indicate places in which our patrols have encountered them. And from that, we marked this as the estimate of what territory they control."

"What do you know about their structure?"

"Their structure?" asked Follows-Chalk.

"How they function, what the chain of command is like."

"Not much, but by reputation they are highly decentralized in order to control the amount of territory they do with so little manpower available to them."

So the Dead Horses hadn't endeavored to find out about the way their enemies worked. He supposed limitations were to be expected when their war leader's strategy came exclusively from Comentarii and brutal use of overwhelming force.

"And what's that," said the Courier, indicating a red dot on the map, close to Zion.

"That's their main base that's close to us. It's where they've been operating out of for their patrols, raids, and assaults."

In other words their forwards operating base. It's where their field commanders would be. Depending on the mentality of the high command, some of them could be there as well. If they decided they liked leading from the front, he might have a rare opportunity on his hands. The Courier turned to walk out of the cave.

"Where are you going?" Follows-Chalk asked after him.

"Where do you think?"

Seeing how the 80's reacted to the obliteration of their FOB and whatever officers they had there should give him some insight into their workings. Otherwise, well he would just try again. Sooner or later he'd get results.


	116. Chapter 116 - Conviction

Chapter 116 - Conviction

After the two of them had been left together, neither had any real idea of what Pyrrha was supposed to be doing there, other than being kept somewhere safe and out of the way. The instructions left by Daniel and Markus were both similarly vague. According to Waking Cloud herself, all Daniel had told her was basic information on Pyrrha. To her, what this meant is that Waking Cloud had been told the story that Markus had concocted. Hopefully that would prevent her from prying into her past. She knew she wasn't a good enough liar to make up a convincing story on the spot.

The talk about not having any instructions was enough however to start a conversation between the two and dispel the awkwardness that had initially permeated their interactions.

Waking Cloud formally introduced herself, saying that she was a midwife by profession and a mother of three. Pyrrha hadn't really thought about the fact that most of the people here weren't like Markus or the Burned Man, and lived as normal a life as possible in the post apocalypse.

But more significantly upon hearing this, for the first time Pyrrha realized just how strange of an idea it was that these people, full adults with so much worldly experience respected and admired Markus as much as they did. It was so odd to her. Even the argument between Daniel and the Burned Man was suddenly recontextualized by the simple realization that they were talking about Markus, someone she knew well personally (though she knew his history considerably less well, she was convinced, or at least had convinced herself, that she knew him well as a person) and someone that was her age. The conclusion she drew from all this was that Markus was someone incredibly exceptional, and to a degree she had not realized until now.

The information he had given her about how many people he had killed, that he fought two wars, and "solved problems" gave plenty of explanation as to why he would be so renowned. But it did not explain how he had accomplished these things. Pyrrha realized that while she had a pretty decent picture of Markus, she didn't at all know his story. But despite this, she was slowly coming to the realization that she knew him better than anyone in Zion, even those he had a history with. But, she still didn't know his past as well as they did. Now that she was left alone with them, she could perhaps get some answers.

"What did the Courier do in Zion exactly?"

"So you want me to tell you the story of the Courier?" said Waking Cloud.

Pyrrha nodded.

"Well in order to do that, it would be best if I started with the White Legs."

Pyrrha knew that they were the antagonistic tribe working for the Legion that Markus and Joshua had, according to Daniel, "exterminated."

"The White Legs were a tribe that wanted to join the Legion. The Legion set them the task of killing all of the New Canaanites. They went and razed New Canaan, massacring most of the inhabitants. Very few survived. Those that did, fled to Zion. The White Legs, keen to finish what they had started, followed them. Joshua rallied the Dead Horses and the Sorrows to defend Zion from the invaders."

"How does the Courier come into this?" asked Pyrrha.

"We could only halt the White Legs, but couldn't drive them out. They were conducting raids and wreaking havoc in the part of Zion they occupied. From what Follows-Chalk has told people, the Courier came into the valley at around this time, escorting a caravan."

A sorrowful look came over Waking Cloud as she continued.

"The White Legs can't provide for themselves, so raid caravans. The Courier was the only survivor. Follows-Chalk brought him to Joshua, and he agreed to help defeat the White Legs, and he did."

"What, just like that?"

"There were some preliminary action taken, such as scouting, clearing locations, and rescuing prisoners, but largely yes. He just went, and defeated the White Legs."

So that filled in one of the gaps in the story of Markus. It made sense now why he was so highly regarded. The way Waking Cloud told it, it was less of an extermination and more of the pushing out of an invader.

"So how is it that you know the Courier?" asked Waking Cloud, catching Pyrrha off guard.

Pyrrha was almost certain that she already knew and was just making conversation at this point.

"He found me in a Vault and since then I've been traveling with him."

 _That's the story._

"What was his long term plan before he decided to help deal with the 80's?"

So that was what this was about.

"I'm not entirely sure. I don't really know much about how things are, but I think he said we were going West."

"That's where he came to Zion from, it would make sense if he takes you there. I've never been there myself. No one in Zion has except Joshua. Follows-Chalk wants to go, but it would ruin the boy's family if he did. There are great tales of what lies there from before the war. But there is also much violence and cruelty according to the New Canaanites. You'd be much better off if you just stayed in Zion."

Stay in Zion… When she thought about it, Pyrrha realized that in fact Zion was about as safe, if not safer than anywhere on Remnant had been. While she would not have said this prior to the Fall of Beacon, with the failure of Vale's defenses, nowhere seemed safe.

While there was a lot of violence and evil on this planet, Zion seemed far enough removed that Pyrrha could be safe here and live an entirely peaceful life, much like Daniel or Waking Cloud did.

But Pyrrha didn't want peace and safety. If she did, she never would have become a Huntress. No, what she wanted, despite how much pain it had caused her, was to be a hero. This desire was her primary motivation. Pyrrha wanted more than anything to be the great and good hero of the fairytales she had grown up on. No matter how much the cruel realities of the world tried to beat her dream down, she refused to give it up. She couldn't deny that all the pain and misery she had suffered were all because of her choice of destiny.

But she couldn't imagine doing anything else with her life. She didn't know why that was. Why she had such a fixation on being a hero. Perhaps it was because of her Semblance, and how powerful she had become with a disproportionately low amount of effort. She had been born into the role of the "Untouchable Girl," and it was role she had never felt comfortable with. Pyrrha had worked wholeheartedly for her victories, but despite that she never felt she deserved them. She never felt that she could take full credit for any of her achievements because of the advantage her Semblance gave her.

But now, here, the playing field was level. Here, she could see exactly who she was, and what she was worth. And what she had seen so far had very nearly crushed her. Funny, she felt worthless because she hadn't killed someone, whereas Markus was hailed as a hero for killing a tribe. The irony was palpable.

But Pyrrha still honestly couldn't say whether she would rather be here talking with Waking Cloud, or out with Markus, trying to prove to herself that she could be the hero of her story. The question was not whether she was able to achieve her destiny, but whether she was willing.


	117. Chapter 117 - The Hornets Nest

Chapter 117 - The Hornets Nest

It had taken about eighteen hours for the Courier to reach the FOB of the 80's. The solitude made him reminiscent of his initial days wandering the wasteland. While he was still concerned about Pyrrha's wellbeing and wasn't at all comfortable leaving her on her own, the fact that he was no longer directly responsible for someone was a liberating feeling. The concern of protecting Pyrrha had been a constant weight on his mind. He head had to put in superhuman discipline to maintain an obsessive amount of caution and vigilance in ensuring that she didn't die.

Even prior to his return to Earth, keeping up an appearances on Remnant had been stressful and tedious. While he had become more comfortable in his role over time, the fact that he had to constantly watch what he said with unwavering diligence was something that made it difficult even for him. The further difficulty added due to his ventures with Vault-Tec meant that he was kept himself busy constantly for months straight.

While it was true that theoretically he didn't do anything differently in the wasteland, the fact was that practically speaking he ended up with enough downtime simply through what was required for him to carry out whatever mission he was undertaking, much like he just had.

The silence he had experienced on his way here was eerie to him. He hadn't really taken note of it at the time, but it had been equally present when he and Pyrrha were journeying to Zion. There were simply vast swathes of territory that betrayed no sign of life, enormous areas of emptiness. The Lone Courier wasn't really accustomed to this. Everything in D.C. and the Mojave seemed densely populated in comparison. Here, he would still be alert as he was there for any potential threat, but would find utterly nothing, to the point that the silence he heard was unsettling. Even now, he still felt the silence.

From the high ground he had taken on the far side of the base from his approach he could see that the no attempt had been made to conceal the encampment. Light poured from the location, the only artificial source of it for miles. The bases itself appeared to be some heavily damaged pre-war buildings of indeterminable purpose repaired haphazardly by inexpert hands and surrounded with a half-hearted ditch and palisade. He had been watching for several hours since he had arrived. At first he had watched from the direction he approached, before moving to the North of the encampment, before finally coming around to the East. The reason he had done this rotation instead of simply heading to the high ground was to utilize multiple vantage points to ensure that there was nothing hidden by perspective. Looking at something from only one angle could very well conceal something critical.

It was by this time night. A much better time for a raid or assassination than day. Or both. The time of day would mean that any kind of response would be delayed, and hopefully less organized than one would be during the day. Still, it was largely irrelevant. He had engaged far more coordinated and well equipped opponents than the 80's under much less favorable circumstances. This was a test after all. The question was how they would react. If the art of war said to know your enemy, the Courier's favored method of learning his enemy was hitting him, and seeing how he dealt with it. If the blow happened to kill him, so much the better.

The question now was how hard to strike.

He had a lot of options at this point. The simplest would be to simply use one of his scoped rifles (likely either Christine's COS Rifle or the Anti-Materiel Rifle) to take out anyone who looked important. This was by far the safest and easiest. But it also presented problems in its execution. There was the possibility that the leaders did not look visually distinct from the lower ranks to a degree that could be seen through the scope of a sniper rifle. That was standard procedure for competent military outfits, but whether or not the 80's had effective organization was yet to be seen. While the Courier had seen several individuals that were visually distinct enough to be leaders, he could not say with any degree of certainty that they were officers. The other difficulty with the sniper route was that the second any officer was shot, his presence would be revealed and all other high value targets would seek cover, making it virtually impossible for him to get them. He would need to take them all out in one stroke, something that he did not believe he could accomplish, even with the aid of VATS.

With the idea of sniping discredited, he had to examine his remaining options. A frontal assault in power armor was feasible, but not ideal. Considering his ignorance of their capabilities and resources he did not want to discover those by having them used against him. No, a stealth strike was needed for them to react without him bearing the effects of their reaction. That left essentially one option: infiltration. The option was not a bad one as should anything go wrong, he had the ability to simply switch into power armor. The shock value of a man in power armor appearing in the center of their forwards operating base should provide him with enough of an advantage to deal some damage and escape before any kind of response to power armor could be devised.

Now, the Courier's plan for infiltration was a simple one. For whatever reason, there seemed to be a semi-regular flow of both individual people and patrols leaving and entering the encampment. He followed one of these patrols as they left, shadowing it from behind, waiting until it was out of sight of the FOB before opening up on the eight-man group with an MP5, emptying the entire magazine on the patrol from behind. They hit the ground nearly simultaneously, the attack resembling more an execution than anything else. Most kills from stealth did. It was why they had been so difficult to do at first. It felt a bit like murder, killing someone who wasn't actively trying to kill you.

But, that was one thing that Markus _had_ grown accustomed to. And without much thought about it, he took the clothing of one of them, and was off towards one of the entrances to the palisade, switching to his ZM LR-300, and fixed a bayonet. If he needed to do any quiet killing even silenced subsonic ammunition wouldn't cut it in quarters as close as those he was going to be in.

And when he was forced to bayonet the throat of the man assigned to check who was entering the base. Other than a quiet, horrible gurgling noise he made as blood poured from the whole in his esophagus, the kill was silent. He body was stuffed inside the little area where he normally stood. There was a timer on now. The body would be found, and ideally the Courier would be out of there by the time it was.

As he walked purposefully away from the isolated entrance post and into the main area where 80's meandered even at this time of night he looked discreetly for the command post. Once he found that, then everything would fall into place.

Fortunately, there was in fact, a building labeled "command post" in the graffiti-esque writing favored by raiders, though it was small enough that he would never have seen it through a scope. He turned a sharp corner to move between the building and an adjacent one, there changing back into his elite riot armor, sinking into a crouch and placing plastic explosive around the exterior of the building for maximum effect and leaving a larger timed explosive as a double tap. With that, he exited the encampment the same way he had entered, bayoneting a group of three raiders in front of him using VATS. That might buy him some time.

Or not. The second he cleared the exit he heard shouting. But that was enough. He switched back to his elite riot gear and slipped into the shadows, leaving the FOB for his vantage point. First he needed a good view. Then, it would be time to start his experiment.


	118. Chapter 118 - Escalation

Chapter 118 - Escalation

The Courier averted his eyes, and activated the detonator.

The incomprehensibly loud sound of an explosion shook the desolate lands.

The Courier looked back at the base. An enormous cloud of dust and sand had risen in front of, around, and above the source of the explosion. He waited to see if the haze of debris would clear. He could see the distant figures scrambling, some rushing towards the command post, and others forming groups that rushed out of the encampment to search for the assailant. Whether these groups were predetermined or were being formed on an ad hoc basis was difficult to tell. He didn't have time to do headcounts of the groups issuing from the palisade.

He wasn't concerned about them. They would never find him. If they came anywhere near his vantage point he had full confidence in his ability evade and, if he felt it necessary, eliminate them.

Seeing that the dust cloud wasn't going to clear in time, the Courier once again averted his eyes, waiting a minute for the second explosion to go off.

It went off more loudly are more violently than the first. The rubble that had encased the second explosive had contained it, if only for a split second, allowing for the pressure to build.

The Courier looked back just in time to see a piece of concrete with rebar fall through the billowing dust. Normally a double tap attack was not ethical, however during an assassination taking place on a FOB with no indication of any civilian presence it was warranted in order to confirm the kill. It was entirely possible for someone to survive even the most carefully placed explosives on a building. It probably wouldn't have been necessary had he had access to the interior of the building. Explosives were not really the ideal weapon for assassinations given that so much about their damage was determined by luck and uncontrolled factors such as the position of the targets at detonation. While it was true that luck played an important role in the question of how lethal a gunshot wound was, sufficient accuracy and a high enough caliber would largely negate that factor. If this case however, the point was not to assassinate anyone specific, but simply damage the command structure of the 80's and see how

Now, it was time to wait. Ideally, he would interfere no further, merely observing. He kept an eye on the search groups in his area, ensuring none of them got near enough to him that it became necessary for him to react.

It took about ten minutes for the smoke to clear to a degree that the damage could be inspected. The command building was almost entirely leveled. The nearest surrounding structures sustained structurally minor damage both from the explosions and primarily from the debris. For the most part though, the FOB was intact. At this point, the question remained as how far to take this.

He could simply leave it at this, and see how the 80's reacted to the elimination of most of their regional command. The Courier had no illusions that he could eliminate all their officers. Most likely they had a rather significant amount of them, given the relatively high amount of troops they had in the area. It was virtually guaranteed that at least one happened to not be in the command post at the time of the detonations. Even if he went and wiped out the entire FOB just to be sure, it was likely that officers would be in the field, and certain that other would be at smaller encampments in the region.

The other option was to eliminate as many 80's as possible, massacring them in order to simply reduce their fighting strength. But a massacre presented strategic problems. For all Joshua talked about going on the offensive and beating the 80's decisively, without knowledge of their philosophy, structure, or strategic resources, an "extermination" of their forces analogous to what they had done to the White Legs might accomplish nothing else than escalating the conflicting a leading to them allocating an overwhelming amount of resources to the area.

Because of this, the Courier came to the conclusion that it would be best to leave it at this, and see how the 80's reacted to a small strike before doing anything more major. His feeling was that it was best to understand the enemy before seeking a decisive engagement.

To that end, he decided that he might as well take the opportunity to study their tactical doctrine and what degree of discipline and professionalism they held. His method for this was to follow a patrol, observing their means. He would not kill this one however, as that would provide an indication of his continued presence. If there was no sign of him for a while, they would be forced to conclude he had escaped, whereas if suddenly a patrol went missing, that would be enough to escalate the situation.

The patrol he followed was one that had recently issued from one of the exits below him. He followed from a decent distance, observing more with a scope than with his eyes. Even with all the ability and advantages towards stealth he possessed, he was taking no chances.

They walked in close order, in a two wide column, in another group of eight. The standardized size of patrols indicated a level of organization and the close order suggested a limited level of discipline, though the tightness of the formation made them vulnerable to ambushes.

Though he had to shift position multiple times in order to get the angles required to acquire the information, he determined that three of them had submachine guns, two held a long rifles of sorts, and one held what looked like a light or medium machine gun.

From appearances this appeared to be a largely functional squad, better equipped for small unit tactics than those of the NCR, who favored giving everyone a Service Rifle and throwing soldiers at the enemy.

The Courier assumed that there was a designated squad leader, but was unable to make out any markings that would indicate rank. They lacked any kind of uniformity in dress, except haphazardly placed logos of interstate 80.

He was about to consider leaving as he didn't know what else he could observe that would be useful to him when he saw something. Smoke, on the horizon. It took a few more minutes before the patrol saw it as well. He could hear the exclamations even from this distance. They veered off course towards it.

The Courier wasn't sure what to make of it. It was quite a lot of smoke, enough that he had thought that this was another encampment of the 80's, and a considerably larger one that the Dead Horses simply didn't know about for whatever reason. But given how the 80's were reacting, that seemed not to be the case. Well, in the meantime, he was content to follow the 80's patrol and let them do the investigating. He could always get rid of them if he needed to.

But while he was preparing for the necessity of slaughtering them, he was not at all prepared for them to be slaughtered.


	119. Chapter 119 - Logistics

Chapter 119 - Logistics

What the fuck was going on. As far as he knew, this was the largest concentration of Legion forces since they were driven out of the Fort.

Thousands of Legionnaires were in this camp. Hundreds of fires burned.

The patrol had never had a chance. It was overwhelmed in moments by the aggression and overwhelming numbers of the Legion patrol.

Considering that the 80's were still around, the Legion must have just recently arrived. Based on the fact that the usual Legion fortifications of an encampment were not even erected yet, that conclusion was further reinforced. This was very, very bad. If the attention of the Legion itself was turned to Zion, and with this level of force, there was no conventional path to victory.

The scores of Legionnaires scrambled around like ants doing one thing or another, setting up the customary fortifications that would not have been out of place over two millennia ago. This all brought up the question as to how this had been accomplished. Somehow someone had gathered enough authority to marshall this amount of forces and march them here. Whether it was because of the 80's expansion into Legion territory or because the Legion decided to finish what the White Legs had started.

But the detail that the Courier was hung up on was that "the Legion" meant Caesar. It was unlikely that even the reputation and brutality of Lanius could have held it together had he survived Hoover Dam. As far as the Courier and the NCR knew, the Legion had moved all their important figures to the Mojave. They had staked everything on Vegas. Therefore the real question was how this amount of forces were still able to be mustered so long after the decapitation of the Legion.

The only explanation was that someone had emerged from the power struggles following the collapse of the Legion with control of enough territory and enough of the command structure to mobilize this amount of men. This was against all expectations. The idea that someone, some unknown, could take up the mantle and seize the cult of personality created by Caesar was entirely unexpected by anyone. The Courier supposed he had little right to be surprised. It took only one man to change the course of history after all.

The question now, was what to do? The situation had changed dramatically. The 80's were now irrelevant as a threat. Either they would retreat from the Legion, and the Legion would let them, or they would be destroyed by the Legion. In any case, Zion would not be threatened by them. Instead, the tribes had to contend with a force of Legionnaires thousands strong.

Well, he didn't know that for sure but nothing was gained by assuming the best in this case. As in most other cases, but that was beside the point. If there was an upstart leader of the Legion, one of the better means of achieving an appearance of legitimacy would be to do what Caesar had failed to do: Kill the Burned Man.

The resurgence of the Legion meant that the NCR had disappointed, as usual. It was clear that they had failed to capitalize on the defeat and disorganization of the Legion after Hoover Dam. It should have been a simple matter of sweeping through their territory, gaining control over all important points. With the shattered state of Legion command at the time, they would have been unable to marshall the overwhelming numbers the Legion utilized as part of their tactical doctrine. Without them, the larger, more modernly equipped NCR forces should have had little difficult dispersing or destroying the diehards.

But instead, it appeared that they had not done anything of the sort, simply occupying Vegas and leaving their enemies to wither away. Or in this case, recover.

In any case, the situation had changed. No longer could he simply solve the problems of Zion himself and leave them to live their lives in relative peace. This was a problem beyond his ability to solve directly.

There were many different ways this could be dealt with. None with a very high chance of success, but nevertheless a lot of options.

But though were more long term. The question of what to do right now lingered. He could try to do something to the Legion that would hinder them. But the problem was that he had no idea as to what the consequences might be. However, the situation was not good.

The force was, at most, three days from Zion. If they wanted to, they could make it in two. That would be barely enough time to evacuate the tribes. But if he was right about the Legion's motivation for pursuing Zion, then evacuation would only prolong the inevitable by a matter of days at most. If they were hunting the Burned Man (and potentially the tribes as well, for humiliating the Legion by proxy) they would not stop and would catch up to a train of evacuees. If they went to Zion, it would be a massacre.

At this point, the Courier could not think of what would better fit the definition of "desperate times". With that in mind, he prepared some desperate measures.

Given that the Legion were camping and fortifying, it indicated that they were not going to attack the 80's until dawn, which was now only a few hours away.

It made sense, night fighting with large forces was a mess. Much safer for them to simply wait for the light so that they could better coordinate their annihilation of the 80's FOB.

At this point, the Courier was really regretting his choices in regards to how he had dealt with the 80's. All the damage he had done would limit their ability to resist the Legion. Well, he supposed the best thing he could do, was try to even the playing field.

Keeping concealed, he moved from position to position overlooking the camp, searching for a few key locations.

Well, at this point, it was more accurate to say targets.

The Courier was looking for the location of the high command, the location of the officers, and the location of the army's water supply.

Of the three targets, the third was most important. An army this size needed to bring its own supply of water with it or move only along a river. Given that they were not on a river at the moment, they must have had a supply of water.

As far as the Courier could tell, high command were in a tent much like the one he had assassinated Caesar in. The problem he would have was that it was very centrally placed, making it difficult to get to, even if he used the stealth suit.

He was further frustrated by the fact that the officers were not concentrated, but rather dispersed among the units they commanded. Evidently Caesar had done away with the Old World's elitism of officers.

While the water supplies were also decentralized to a degree, they were spread only across a few teams of bighorners used to haul them. Few enough that the Courier knew he could destroy them quickly.

The order of action would be first to destroy the water, second to take out as many important looking people as he could with a sniper rifle and explosives he would plant.

The Courier checked his arsenal.

Suddenly he had an idea.

Let's see, how much Dark Datura did he have?


	120. Chapter 120 - Acoustics

Chapter 120 - Acoustics

The Legion had good sentries. In general, they were a well disciplined force, and had an effective, though massively outdated, doctrine that suited their strengths. This was why the NCR always observed their movements through a telescopic lense rather than up close. However they had no chance against the Courier. In this instance, their discipline and adherence to doctrine was a weakness. It made them predictable. This was something that he exploited fully, anticipating their actions, and using these patterns to easily pass the sentries.

The first target, the water supplies, were kept at the center of the camp, with the rest of the baggage, following Roman tradition. This central location was chosen specifically to prevent what we was attempting to do now. It was not an easy place to get to, even for him. However the tents afforded him a measure of cover, as did the all pervading darkness. There was little reason for anyone to be out at this time other than the sentries, and the Courier was prepared to kill anyone he came across before they could make any sound that would give away his presence.

It was a slow process, moving from the cover of one tent to another, constantly ensuring no eyes were covering his next movement. But finally, the Courier made it to the animals carrying the water supplies.

However the beasts of burden were kept a good distance away from the nearest tents and were guarded by a sentry facing away in each of the directions of the face of the square the camp was formed in. There was no way he was doing this visible. The Courier reluctantly equipped the Stealth Suit Mk. III.

Markus had used the Stealth Suit and stealth boys quite extensively before he had found out that prolonged usage could cause side effects similar to those experienced by the Night-Kin. He had quickly started only using them for situations in which there were no other options.

While Doctor Henry had assured him that he had never encountered a human that experienced these side effects, the Courier wasn't taking any more chances than he had to. With his messed up physiology, the jury was out on what it might do to him and how long it would take for effects to manifest.

Besides, the effects themselves were too terrible to contemplate. The idea of him developing schizophrenia, paranoia, or dissociative identity disorder was truly dangerous. The damage he could do if he became schizophrenic was literally unimaginable. Paranoia was no better. While he may have appeared paranoid in his treating everyone like they might want to kill him, that had nothing on the reality of a mental illness that entailed the irrational belief that people were out to get you. Considering historically the things that had been done due to paranoia, the thought of him becoming actually paranoid was no less horrifying than the idea of him becoming schizophrenic. Funnily enough, DID was actually the least damaging of the three symptoms. If it occurred, it was the one that was least likely to cause him to kill a whole bunch of people.

Still, further than simply the damage he could do, the simply idea that it could alter his mind, alter _him_ , was enough for him to shy away from its use.

Nevertheless, he put it on and walked around the sentry in front of him, being careful avoid the imperfect camouflage of the suit giving him away. He then very carefully opened each of the various scavenged containers the Legion used to hold water, and placed a significant amount of Dark Datura in each of them. He didn't know how long after drinking it would take effect. The long the better. If it happened immediately, they would realize he had poisoned the water and the damage would be limited. If it took longer to take effect, then more would drink it, not realizing it had been tampered with.

But most importantly, the Courier used enough that the water was thoroughly unusable. The Legion would need to march to water, and it would suffer casualties while doing so. Now to leave. The assassinations would be done from a distance this time. This assault was less surgical and less discriminatory. Still, that didn't make planting explosives near the command tent any less of a good idea.

The position the Courier took was one that had been chosen carefully, it was under a sandstone formation with a slight overhang. His first shot told why. It had been aimed at someone that had a unique helmet that had entered and left the command post several times since he had started watching. This was peculiar enough to make him a target.

The helmet did nothing to stop the supersonic .308 round. While it was difficult to tell from the location the Courier was in, the gunshot had echoed from the walls of the slight depression the Legion was camped in making it nearly impossible to determine the direction of the sound. Unfortunately, this ricocheting of sound was also painfully loud. But was, in the end, a small price to pay for the advantage it gave him. With the muzzle flash almost totally invisible due to the suppressor, the Legion had virtually no chance to locate him. But that wouldn't stop them from trying. And that would be quite helpful.

The second place the Courier looked was the command tent. It was not far from where his first target had slumped to the ground. Within seconds, the entire camp came to life in the wake of the gunshot. Even with a suppressor and at this distance the sound was loud enough to be noticed and the death of one of the camp's inhabitants was enough for the the sentries to sound the alarm. The occupants of the command tent rushed out. The second the Courier saw the first one leave the entrance he detonated the explosive he had planted. The dust billowed from where the tent was. The reason he had not opened with that was that he had not used a large amount of explosive, nor was it optimized for anti-personnel uses. Therefore if all the occupants of the tent were lying down asleep, the damage would be minimized as the vast majority of the shrapnel would miss them. This was, they were much larger targets for the impact of the blast.

With that dealt with and the high command obscured by dust, the Courier began to target Centurions. And there were quite a few of them. However after the first few went down, they began to seek cover.

After the couple braver souls that tried to rally their centuries to find the shooter went down, the Courier switched to targeting the Decanii. These were much more numerous. The NCO's of the Legion, they were expected to lead from the front and they paid the price for that.

The Courier fired almost non-stop, stacking empty magazines next to where he crouched. He kept up the firing, ensuring the area of the camp that was within range was kept suppressed.

However that effect was limited in scope. Already patrols of Legionnaires were issuing from the camp in every direction, determined to find the assailant. And with the numbers they possessed, the Legion stood a much better chance than the 80's did. After wiping out the patrols headed towards him, and a couple not headed towards him for the purpose of misdirection, the Courier decided it was time to leave.

The high command of this cohort had been struck, potentially decapitated, the ranks of the officers, both commissioned and otherwise, had been thinned, and the water supply of the army had been poisoned with hallucinogens. Now, there was only one thing left to do.

The Courier started the long walk back to Zion. The Burned Man needed to be told.


	121. Chapter 121 - Coalition Warfare

Chapter 121 - Coalition Warfare

It took the Courier substantially less time to get back to Zion than it had taken him to get to the 80's FOB. Now, time was of the essence.

He headed directly to Joshua. This was something that the top echelons needed to know immediately. One of the most vital strategic advantages they possessed was that their lesser numbers allowed them greater maneuver and reaction capabilities. The Legion on the other hand was constrained by the fact that despite their strict discipline and devotion to efficiency, it still took a lot of time to make decisions and actually move the vast force they had assembled simply because of how vast it was.

The damage he had done to the command and logistics of the force should buy them time. Depending on the ability of the Legion to procure more water this could delay them for a while. If all went well, they would prioritize resupplying over eliminating the FOB established by the 80's.

The Courier entered the cave from which Joshua operated at a very brisk and forceful walk.

The second he entered the room, he spoke.

"Graham!"

The Burned Man looked up at him from where he was sitting.

"As of right now, several thousand Legionaries are within thirty miles of Zion."

He stood up sharply.  
"What!?"

It was not often that Burned Man exhibited strong emotion or any strong reaction. This was certainly an occasion that would warrant one however.

"Directly next to the 80's forward base."

The second he finished talking Joshua asked a question.

"Are they here for us or them?"  
"They weren't very forthcoming."

The Courier's wise crack was ignored.

Daniel spoke.

"We need to evacuate. Now we have no choice."

So Daniel was back to the same line. But it still wouldn't work for the same reasons.

"That won't work," Markus said, "If they're coming, they're coming for you, not Zion. You can't outrun the Legion."

Well not with refugees anyway. Despite the inherent slowness of an army on the march compared to a smaller group, they would still be faster than a large mass of women and children. Daniel exhaled fully.

"How committed are the 80's to this expansion?" said Graham.

"What do you mean?" said the Courier.

"Will they just retreat in the face of the Legion?"

"It depends. They have no reason to believe the Legion is not after them."

That information was important. The 80's had now become a decisive factor. They were a professional organization with proper discipline and doctrine. It was clear that they had rational and practical leadership. They were acting in their own interest. They were predictable. If they think the Legion will only reclaim the territory they have taken and then leave them alone, they will simply withdraw. The territory is not that valuable for them and was certainly not worth trying to fight thousands of Legionnaires as well as the tribes of Zion.

But if they knew the Legion, as they almost undoubtedly would, the Legion was not the kind to settle for anything other than a complete victory. The concept of total war was the critical aspect of Caesar's strategic doctrine. The 80's undoubtedly knew what happened to the tribes that resisted the Legion. He voiced his plans to the others.

"If they can be convinced that the Legion is aiming to wipe them out,"

"How?" asked Joshua.

"I can either leak false information to them or just convince them myself."

He needed to ensure that the 80's would resist the Legion, either by simply telling them that the Legion was trying to kill them or engineer a way for them to discover that false information themselves. While it was true that they might very well come to that conclusion without his involvement, there was no way to be sure and whatever they decided to do, the 80's needed to be a known quantity.

"Considering the proximity of the Legion, we're short on time."

"So the latter. I'll try and get at least a cessation of hostilities between us. If possible I'll see if I can convince them to coordinate militarily and share intel."

The Burned Man nodded.

"So what do we do?" Daniel asked.

This was the question.

"This calls for different tactics than against the White Legs. We need to maintain constant contact with the Legion, harassing them as they approach Zion."

"That won't stop them."

"No, it won't. Zion will need to be evacuated, at least of the civilians. We will have to fight them for every foot of ground," the Courier gestured emphatically, "We need a constant fighting withdrawal, using long enough range and knowledge of the local terrain to stage ambushes that never give a protracted battle.

They are an army, the best we could do would be to hurt their logistics. We can stop their entire advance if we can destroy their supply line. If we can destroy their ammunition supplies we can damage their ability to attack at range. If they don't have ammunition for their weapons we can then stage ambushes with near impunity. If we can prevent food and water convoys from arriving they will suffer terrible attrition or be forced to retreat."

The Burned Man nodded once again, "That would be effective. If we deny the Legion a decisive battle they wouldn't know how to respond. They don't have any doctrine for dealing with this kind of war. Zion is fertile enough to feed us, but not an army."

It was good that Graham understood the concept well enough to oversee the execution of it. The problem would be that it relied heavily on decentralized command. Each of the Dead Horses leading the guerilla groups needed to also understand how it was to work.

"They will be forced to split their forces to hunt you. Wipe out these detachments through overwhelming numbers. Ensure that a system is created for the setting of traps and the communication of their locations."

"We simply don't have the manpower. This strategy will only delay. Realistically, we will never win. Any casualties we take are irreplaceable. Even if we kill many more of the Legion than they do of us, they will bleed us dry."

And this was the problem that the Courier was all too aware of. Even with full cooperation from the 80's, this was not a path to victory. The fact was that they did not have the logistical resources for even a guerilla war. They didn't have ammunition factories to supply the bullets nor the reserves of manpower needed to keep up a war of attrition. When either of these ran out, they would lose, and lose hard.

"How long can you last?"

"We'll never achieve…"

"How long can you survive for?

The Burned Man sighed.

"It depends on too much to give a good estimate. On how effective the tactics are. On how good of a commander is leading the Legion, how well he can adapt to the tactics. And on whether or not the 80's decide to fight."

"Worst case scenario."

"Two weeks at worst. The decentralization of our forces will prevent the Legion from winning any quicker. This is unlikely though. The Legion aren't known for a flexible or innovative doctrine."

"I need as much time as you can give me. Our best chance at this point is for me to head West and try to convince the NCR to launch an offensive while the Legion is occupied up here. The threat of the NCR in the South should hopefully force this army to abandon the prospect of fighting a prolonged war against you and pivot to face the threat of the NCR."

"The NCR are not the most trustworthy nor the quickest to action."

"It'll be a hard sell, but there is no one else capable of threatening the Legion enough that this force would need to be brought to address it."

"I suppose it's the only chance we've got," said Daniel.

"Well then, inform the tribes. Time is of the essence. I'll see what I can do about the 80's."

Joshua nodded for the last time as the Courier turned and left the cave.

Before he went to start negotiations with the 80's, he decided that he needed to at least briefly check up on Pyrrha. Markus also felt it was a good idea to inform her as to what was going on. Considering her mental state, it was best to give her some warning about what was to come.

He found her with the Sorrows. She was facing away from where he had entered their encampment, and seemed not to have noticed the reaction of all the tribals to his arrival.

"So Pyrrha, what have you been doing?"


	122. Chapter 122 - Prodigium

Chapter 122 - Prodigium

For the most part, Pyrrha found the time she spent with Waking Cloud and the Sorrows to be the most peaceful time she had had. This was a bad thing.

This gave her the time she needed to put herself through a torturous inquisition in regards to each of her perceived failings.

As Pyrrha had accompanied Waking Cloud in her quiet, almost idyllic, peaceful life, she found herself with the mental capacity available to wrestle with issues she would rather never have thought of.

The anecdotes the woman told to her were interesting, telling of experiences both quaint and unique to this post-apocalyptic world, but allowed her mind to wander and address subjects that had lurked only barely beneath the surface of her thoughts.

Her primary concern was justifying how her actions led to an innocent person dying.

She had told herself that she wasn't a bad person. She couldn't be. She hadn't wanted him to die. She also hadn't wanted the member of the 80's to die. Well, maybe she had, but she didn't want to actually be the one to do it, to have that on her conscience.

The best she could do was degrade her responsibility from negligence to incompetence. It wasn't that she didn't make the right choice, but she wasn't able to. It was simply something that she hadn't been prepared for.

Of course, that wasn't much consolation. She tried other approaches. She knew he must have known the risks. That didn't help. He was still dead, and whether by incompetence or bad choices, it was her fault. The fact was, if she had pulled the trigger, a man would still be alive.

However, something came into mind that did help ease her conscience, though it didn't really have any right to.  
She wasn't supposed to be involved at all. Markus had told her not to do anything but to stay where she was. If she had simply done what Markus had told her to do, the man would still be dead. Nothing would be different.

Somehow, she this made her feel less responsible. Somehow because Markus had told her not to get involved, she felt less guilty about not being involved.

Now that she was no longer feeling like she was so much of an awful person, Pyrrha had to deal with the fact that she felt incapable. She couldn't handle herself here. She couldn't kill when it was required of her. She couldn't kill to save someone. She didn't even know if she could kill to save herself.

While this apparently utterly pacifistic modus operandi might seem principled or noble, it was not to Pyrrha. It was not a conscious decision she was making, not a stand saying that killing was wrong, but a sheer emotional reaction that made her incapable of killing even when she conceded, however reluctantly, that it was ultimately the right thing to do.

This was the issue that she had spent most of her time contemplating. She spent her time with the Sorrows only half there.

Despite this, she enjoyed the company of Waking Cloud. Her presence, in fact, her mere existence was comforting to her. It was nice to see what was in the end essentially a normal person, with normal concerns and normal goals, living her life.

She was someone else that Pyrrha could have genuine interactions with, almost untainted by a preceding reputation. Pyrrha had noticed that Waking Cloud did not speak of the Courier with the reverence and awe that some of the others treated him with. Not that she lacked respect for him, she had made that abundantly clear how highly she regarded him and what he had done for the tribes; Pyrrha got the impression that Waking Cloud was simply too grounded to buy into the "legend" around the idea of the Courier.

Pyrrha also realized through the interactions with these tribals how little of the truth her partner had told her. It was not that he had lied to her, or intentionally left out information to deceive her, it was just that he had been very vague and had not communicated how he was viewed by the people, nor the significance of what he had done. She didn't understand why he hadn't told her about this initially. She imagined she would have taken the new about what he had done much better if she had known people considered him a hero for it.

There was another aspect of staying with the Sorrows that helped restore Pyrrha's flagging morale. It was reminder of decency and normality of regular people. Of the basic concerns of normal life and the daily concerns of normal people.

Seeing the children and happy people reminded her of why she endured all of this suffering, what it was all for. It gave her something of an epiphany however.

At some point, Pyrrha made the connection that this was the happiness and safety that Huntsmen fought for. And here, it was what people killed for, and died for. The happiness and safety of all the people here depended on the willingness of other people to kill for them.

Perhaps, Pyrrha could find it in herself to do the same in the name of protecting people. Protecting this from the horrors Markus had described to her.

But her newfound pessimism crushed her hope. She had no real confidence in the idea that she would be able to pull the trigger when it came down to it. She might, but she also might not. She could probably kill to save herself, but in the end that only meant that she felt she would rather live with the guilt of killing someone than die herself. Even that was nothing more than simple cowardice.

In the end, what should have been a relaxing time for Pyrrha in which she could rest her mind a recover her bearing became a time of late nights agonizing over what was the right course of action and whether or not she could summon the courage to carry it out.

So when Markus asked her what she had been doing, she naturally told him none of it.

"Not much, mainly recovering from our long walk."

It wasn't really a lie, which was how she managed to say it without giving anything away. Pyrrha wasn't a good liar, but while this didn't tell the whole story, it was true. She had recovered substantially physically. Her body had stopped hurting in so many places and the muscles that had been strained to limits began to recover.

"Good to hear. Unfortunately, I have bad news."

"Bad news?"

"Very bad," his voice became hushed so that none of the other occupants of the cave could hear, "large Legion force in the area, probably headed this way. The the civilians will need to be evacuated from Zion."

Pyrrha grabbed his arm a pulled him away from the group, into a currently unoccupied area of the cave where they could talk freely.  
"The Legion's coming here?!"

It seemed a cruel irony that this idyllic community she had just been introduced to would be destroyed so soon. Or at least evacuated to somewhere far away.

"How many of them?"

"Thousands."

"What are we going to do about it?"

"I've spoken to Joshua about this, and the best course of action is to evacuate the civilians and use guerilla warfare to slow the Legion and bleed them as much as possible. I'm going to go talk to the 80's to see if I can convince them not to attack us and to focus on the Legion instead."

"I want to come with you."

Pyrrha wanted to do something. She longed to feel that she was making some kind of positive contribution to the world. Some sort of validation she was a good person, someone that helped people after all that had happened.

"No. Out of the question. I'm not taking you into danger for no reason."  
"I want to do something!"

"Then ask Joshua or Daniel, you can't really help with what I'm doing."

While it did feel a little like he was being overprotective of her, Pyrrha did internally at least concede that she probably would not be helpful in negotiations with the 80's. That was something she had no experience or ability in.

"Don't get too involved. Once I get back, we're heading West."

"West?"

"Yes, the only hope of defeating the Legion is getting the NCR involved. And for that, we need to go to New Vegas."


	123. Chapter 123 - Gunboat Diplomacy

Chapter 123 - Gunboat Diplomacy

Once again, the Courier was headed back to the FOB of the 80's, though this time he came in peace. However he was far less confident in the odds of the success of his mission.

While he figured that there were decent odds that the 80's were rational enough people to negotiate with, he was aware of the possibility that they were unreasonable fanatics. But beyond that, there was a bigger problem.

Said problem was that he had no reasonable expectation that any of the 80's remained at the FOB. Alive at least. From what he knew of the Legion, even if they were forced to retreat they would certainly make sure to wipe out the enemies within their grasp, regardless of the cost.

If they 80's had received enough warning of the presence of the Legion to retreat, he would have difficulty finding them as they would have made efforts to hinder those that would pursue them. That wasn't helped by the fact that the terrain concealed the recent passage of anything less than an army.

In the more likely eventuality that the 80's command in this area had been wiped out by the Legion, he would need to journey further into their territory and attempt to find someone with the authority to treat with.

This whole thing could end up taking far longer than he wanted it to. Time was his most precious commodity at this point. There was an effective countdown on the lives of everyone in Zion. His only means of stopping the countdown was a rather longshot scheme to convince the NCR to take advantage of the situation and attack the Legion. But for now, he would settle for buying more time.

As he neared the location that the 80's FOB was, the Courier made the spontaneous decision to divert slightly from his course to first head to where the Legion had been encamped, and approach the FOB from there. On the off chance that there the 80's were still there, he wanted to know as much as he could about the events that had spared them from annihilation. He couldn't afford to enter negotiations with a weak hand. Any ignorance on his part regarding the strategic situation would decrease his legitimacy and bargaining position.

When he finally arrived at the spot where the Legion had erected their camp, everything looked just as he had expected. The Legion were gone, however there was something that he had not anticipated.

Haphazardly strewn across the ground were a slew of bloated bodies. The Courier knew that the only reason he was not overwhelmed by their stench was the fact that he was upwind of them. Even the filters in the elite riot gear he wore would only do so much.

Somewhat perversely, this grisly scene of day-old corpses rotting in the desert sun filled the Courier with hope. This result was beyond anything he had hoped for. What he surmised was that there had been enough of a delay between consumption of the Dark Datura and the first effects being felt that a large amount of people had drank some before anyone realized anything was wrong. What followed would have been carnage.

While from the amount of corpses the Courier could tell that it was nothing like a majority and that this was not a decisive blow against this force, it certainly would have had a strong moral impact on the both the rank and file and commanders. This combined with the decimation of the leaders by his more direct means gave the 80's much better odds of having survived. With renewed energy he moved up the rise that separated the Legion's camp from that of the 80's.

The Courier let out a barely audible sigh of relief upon seeing movement in the base. People moved back and forth just as they had before, except now there was a very conspicuous pile of rubble where the command post had been.

Now, the question was how to make contact. He couldn't exactly walk up and ask for an audience like he was some kind of emissary to a medieval court. The 80's, for all their organization and tactical competence were still raiders. They would shoot him on sight. Well, that meant he had to do this all in a less than polite manner.

The Courier stood with a revolver pointed at the man across from him, as the other occupants of the room reached for their weapons, touching but not drawing them upon seeing the situation.

They understood the implied threat. Fortunately, they were also the kind of people who actually cared about hostages. Or at the very least they believed he could shoot them all if they actually tried to draw.

This had been easier to pull off than the Courier had anticipated. Apparently they hadn't learned not to label where their leaders were. Evidently he had given them too much credit.

"Sorry I have to do it this way, but unfortunately I didn't happen to bring a white flag," said the Courier casually.

"Who are you? Why are you here?"

That was the one that he was pointing his weapon at.

"I'm guessing you know that there were several thousand legionaries within shouting distance of here?"

"What _about_ the Legion?"

"I happen to want them dead."

"Why the fuck are you here?"

That was the one on his right. Without the threat of death, he was much less polite that his compatriot. The Courier didn't hold it against him, it would be hypocritical considering he was holding them at gunpoint.

"I'm here on behalf of the tribes of Zion."

"What the fuck do they want?"

"They want a truce."

The one on his right snorted in derision.

"And why would we agree to that?"

The Courier lowered his gun slightly, keeping it in a position that was still pragmatically threatening but made it clear that he was not intending to use it.

"We know your situation well enough to know you have much bigger concerns. The Legion is coming for you."

"So?"

The first one was talking again. It was quickly becoming clear that these were the only two that had any kind of authority here.

"We're concerned once the Legion destroys you, we're next."

"What makes you think the Legion can, or even wants to destroy us?"

"Cut the bullshit. You know how the Legion works. I know how they work. We know your numbers and capabilities. The Legion will send this force to destroy you and they have the numbers to do it."

"We've survived this long, why would we trust you?"

"The only reason this place is still standing is because I poisoned the Legion's water supply. They will be back in a matter of days to wipe this place out."

The man he was pointing the gun at spoke again.  
"Even if what you say is true, what do we have to gain through a truce?"

"The obvious. You'll last longer if you're not fighting a war on two fronts. If you agree to stay out of Zion, we could potentially agree to some kind of military cooperation. I'm telling you that your only hope for survival is to work with us."

"How could we trust these uncivilized tribals?"

"They're led by New Canaanites and understand as well as anyone else what the Legion will do to them."

There was a moment of silent contemplation as the pair for the first time seriously considered aligning with the tribes against the Legion. It was clear that even through the characteristic brutality of raiders that they were pragmatists first and foremost and realized the existential threat that the Legion posed.

"So, in the spirit of preventing everyone present from ending up on a cross, do I have your agreement?"

There was a moment of tense silence. The Courier looked at his weapon and then looked up again.

"Yes." said the man he was pointing a gun at.

"Good. I didn't want to have to make things easier for the Legion."

And with that parting remark, the Courier simply disappeared.


	124. Chapter 124 - Breach and Clear

Chapter 124 - Breach and Clear

It was with no small amount of apprehension that Pyrrha had made the decision to _do_ something. She knew very well how this might end up, and she knew equally well how likely that outcome was. Still, fear of failure never stopped her before, even in instances it perhaps should have.

She had made the decision that she wanted to achieve something. Not something specific, just something so she could feel she was at the very least an active participant in the coming events. She didn't want to just sit around uselessly while things happened around her.

Which was why she had set off to find the cave where the Burned Man and Daniel were. It wasn't terribly difficult considering it wasn't very far away and she had been there recently.

Entering the cave, she passed the tribals that quite conspicuously looked at her curiously. Pyrrha didn't react and kept her course to where Daniel and Joshua had been. At this point, she was determined to accomplish something and she was focused on it with single minded determination.

Fortunately, both Daniel and the Burned Man were present. They looked at her as she entered the section of cave they were in.

Pyrrha spoke,

"I want to help," she said bluntly.

She met the Burned Man's eerily blue eyes.

"The Courier made it quite clear he wants you kept safe," said the Burned Man.

"I've already spoken to him about it."

"And he agreed?"  
"Yes."

Well, more or less. He hadn't explicitly given his blessing to this whole thing, but he also hadn't told her no.

"Are you going to be heading West with him?" asked Daniel.

"Yes, he said not to get 'too involved.'"

"Alright. We're going to be evacuating the civilians through a place called Pine Creek tunnel."  
"You've met Follows-Chalk?"

Pyrrha nodded. She remembered him from before. He was one of the younger tribals she had met, but he still looked several years older than she was. He has something of an enigma to Pyrrha. Despite the terrible ruined world he lived in and the violence he had partaken in, he somehow retained the childish exuberance she had come to expect from Ruby.

"Good, speak to him. He should be about a mile east of here. Stay close to the cliffs on your right and you will find him. He'll be leading a group to secure the evacuation route. Tell him I sent you," said Joshua.

Pyrrha nodded again.  
"If all goes well, it'll be a simple walk," said Daniel, "If not, let's how the Courier prepared you well enough. Good luck, God be with you."

"Thanks."

Pyrrha wasn't exactly sure what to say to that. It seemed much more ominous when it was phrased that way. Well, as she exited the cave she put on the black helmet that Markus had insisted she wore. It had a pretty robust harness system that needed to be attached each time she put it on. It wasn't as heavy as it looked, but said harness system was the only reason it managed to stay on her head. She then set out to find Follows-Chalk.

During the mile walk to where she had been told Follows-Chalk would be, Pyrrha found herself pointing the M14 at virtually every sound she heard. This newfound paranoia concerned her a bit, but not as much as the prospect of being ambushed by a mutated bear thing. But despite her fears, Pyrrha made it to her destination without incident.

There were three tribals there, Follows-Chalk, and two others she didn't recognize but were similarly young and similarly dressed.

"Um, hello," said Pyrrha, typically uncomfortable talking to strangers.

"Hi," said Follows-Chalk, "you're the one that came here with the Courier."

"I don't think I've ever introduced myself," said Pyrrha, "My name is Pyrrha Nikos. Joshua sent me here to help."

"Oh, um, alright. We were just about to get going towards the tunnel."

"Ok, let's go then."

The group walked at a brisk pace towards where Pyrrha assumed Pine Creek tunnel was. After about half an hour, they came to what Pyrrha assumed to be it.

There was a large metal covering with what appeared to be small doors in it that sealed the tunnel.

"That's it," said Follows-Chalk.

He walked up to the nearest of the doors and looked at it. The handle appeared heavily rusted. Follows-Chalk warily raised his pistol and tried to open the door with his other hand.

Unsurprisingly, it didn't budge.

Two loud bangs rang out. Follows-Chalk had shot the hinges of the door. He gave the door a sharp push. It fell in with a clang. The four of them filed in, all feeling a palpable sense of unease. They all kept their weapons at the ready.

It was almost totally dark inside the tunnel, the only light coming from through the metal grating behind them that had sealed this place for who knows how long. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the low light.

Then, she heard buzzing. Pyrrha turned to the direction she heard the sound come from and raised her weapon.

Oh. Oh no. She didn't know _what_ that thing was, but she wanted it nowhere near her and dead.

Having little control of the former, she settled for the latter.

Fortunately for her, Pyrrha had very good reflexes and a healthy response to panic. She just emptied the entire magazine with a surprising degree of accuracy into the creature. Much to her relief, it collapsed dead.

But much to her horror, she saw more movement, further down the tunnel.

Her initial reaction was the same as before. However with the danger being less immediate, she retained the presence of mind to realize she needed to reload.

She felt for the release on the magazine before grabbing it and fumbling while trying to swap it with one of the ones attached to the armor she was wearing.

She panicked further as more of these things came into view.

However, she was saved by a barrage of small arms fire from her forgotten companions. The things died horribly, their bodies crumpling to the floor, still twitching.

From the darkness Pyrrha saw the gleam of another one of their eyes', hovering. She fired a few more carefully placed rounds this time. It dropped. She kept scanning the the darkness, looking for any more, her heart pounding. Gradually, her heart slowed, and she lowered her weapon.

"You seem to be adjusting well," said Follows-Chalk.

"What _were_ those things?"

"They didn't have cazadores before the war?"

Pyrrha shook her head wordlessly.

"Wow, must have been nice."

Pyrrha nodded wordlessly.

First giant horrifically mutated bears, now strange, giant mutated flying insects. Well, she didn't know if the monsters here were more dangerous here than on Remnant, but they certainly looked more horrific than the Grimm.

As they continued to walk through the tunnel and the adrenaline died down, Pyrrha felt that the experience had somehow changed her.

It seemed things weren't as different here as she had thought they were. There were still conventional monsters to fight, and she was still good at fighting them.

While her failures and uncertainty in here attempts at combat against other people had crushed her self of sense worth severely, her more recent achievements in self-sufficiency and self-defense had restored some of her self esteem.


	125. Chapter 125 - Exodus

Chapter 125 - Exodus

"I left them a radio frequency," the Courier said, putting a sheet of paper identical to the one he had left with the 80's on the table Joshua sat at.

"The commander of their local force agreed to a truce. You can start negotiations via radio or arrange a meeting."

"So you're going to be leaving now then?"

"Yes. Time is the enemy here. The sooner I can convince the NCR act, the better."

"We'll hold as long as we can. The Legion won't have an easy time of it."

"Where's Daniel?"

The more pasifistic voice of the New Canaanites was conspicuously absent.

"He's preparing the civilians to evacuate, and I'm left here, once again to plan to wage a total war."

The Burned Man let out a burdened sigh.

"My task seems paradoxical. I cannot understand how to send them to war without making them a warlike people. I value their innocence, but more so their survival. However I do not want to make another Legion."

It did seem paradoxical. However, Markus remembered something he had read about a long time ago that might be helpful.

"There was a concept, before the war, of the idea of a 'citizen under arms.' The idea is to make them understand that the fighting is a means to an end. That they are fighting for their survival and their freedom, not for power or dominance."

The idea was difficult to communicate, and he wasn't sure if he was doing a good job at getting the point across.

"Hmm. You're saying that they _shouldn't_ be professional soldiers."

That was the opposite of the philosophy of the Legion, and ironically the idea of integration of soldiers into civilian society had significant basis in the society of ancient Rome. However the idea came into more modern prevalence following the Second World War, with the idea of "illegal orders" that soldiers were required not to follow. Perhaps the Courier could re-introduce some of the more modern elements of civilization to wasteland.

"Sort of. The concept is that they would be soldiers by necessity rather than by trade. While they would be trained, and even sometimes train in peacetime, they would not form a standing army during times of peace. Part of the idea is that when the war is over, they can go back to their normal life."

"That...could work. Fostering a dedication to Zion and what it stands for should make it easier for them to return how they were before. War for an ideology rather than for a Caesar or for its own sake. It might be difficult, but it seems to be the only solution."

There was a brief lull in the conversation, before the Courier spoke again.

"Where's Pyrrha by the way?"

Markus remembered that she had decided to "do something" and he had decided that he didn't have the time to argue with her about not "doing something" so he had no idea what she had been up to while he was away.

"That girl you were with? I sent her to help Follows-Chalk scout Pine Creek tunnel, we're going to use it for evacuation. It's taken a couple days to clear it. Some cazadores and geckos decided to take up residence. She should be there, if she's not, ask Follows-Chalk, you know where to find him."

Markus was about to leave, but had an idea.

"Before I forget," the Courier materialized a pile of frag mines emptied from his Pip-Boy, "these should help at least slow the Legion. One a few of these go off, they'll start being more cautious."

"Or they might march on regardless."

Well, that was entirely possible, and the Burned Man was the person who would know best how the Legion would act.

"Well, even in that case, that's still quite a few dead Legionaries."

The Courier was equally confident that the Burned Man would be able to put them to good use.

"Good luck Courier. You know the stakes."

"We all do. I'll see you when this army is dead."

With that, the Courier walked out of the cave, heading East towards Pine Creek Tunnel. He was not entirely happy about the idea of Pyrrha fighting on her own. Especially against giant cazadores. But, she wasn't exactly alone from what he had heard. Accompanied by Follows-Chalk and other tribals, Pyrrha should have had enough insurance to be safe enough. While he knew she was quite capable at defending herself, especially due to her huntsman training, he was concerned about her psychological well being and the significant disadvantage she possessed simply because she was still not used to fighting without Aura. There was a real danger that she could make a critical error in combat simply through ignorance of her own capabilities or lack thereof. Still, she was a better shot than just about anyone outside of First Recon or the Rangers, and that counted for a lot.

Markus had a lot more confidence in Pyrrha's ability to fight the creatures of the wasteland. The thing that would get her killed was if she got into situation that she needed to kill people to get out of. Her reluctance and hesitance to do so would likely prove fatal.

Fortunately, the task she had decided to help accomplish kept her far away from threats from humans. While giant cazadores were horrible things, at the very least Pyrrha would not hesitate to kill them. Luck appeared to be on his side today as he saw Pyrrha in her mismatched outfit and distinctively red hair leaning against the metal grating that covered the entrance to the tunnel with Follows-Chalk standing nearby, talking to some of his fellow scouts.

Pyrrha spotted him before they were within speaking distance. Markus raised a hand in acknowledgement, and she stood up straight from the wall she had been leaning against.

"So how did it go?" Pyrrha asked.

"The 80's agreed. We're leaving for Vegas immediately."

Pyrrha nodded, seemingly totally unperturbed by the news.

"You're leaving already?" said Follows-Chalk.

Apparently he had overheard their conversation. It was hardly unexpected for him to notice the Courier's arrival.

"Yes, I'm going to try to get the NCR to attack the Legion. If they do that, the Legion will be forced to try and deal with that rather than attack you."

"We're just going to have to hold out until then."

The Courier nodded.

"The doctrine is not to let the Legion know where you are, and to fight a slow retreat, filled with ambushes and sabotage. If you get pushed out of Zion, see if you can collapse this tunnel on them. Hopefully it won't come to that, but better to be prepared."

Follows-Chalk nodded soberly. The future for the tribes looked bleak. This brutal guerrilla warfare would devastate Zion. All of them knew it. But faced with the threat of the Legion, what choice was there?

"Well, I supposed you had better be off then, the sooner you get going, the sooner you can bring the NCR."

"Yeah, we had better get going."

"It was nice meeting you Pyrrha-Nikos," said Follows Chalk.

"It was pleasure meeting you as well," said Pyrrha stiltedly.

As usual, Pyrrha was uncomfortable even in simply saying goodbye to someone.

But, that was something the Courier was familiar with. Most of his companions were more or less socially dysfunctional.

Together, the two of them headed towards the Southern passage, the Courier leading.

"Markus, how far is it to Vegas?"

"One hundred and forty-four miles, as the crow flies. If we're lucky, we'll do it in six days. If not, well we'll see."

There was an audible groan from Pyrrha.

"Cheer up, it took me two weeks to get here the first time."

"That doesn't help."

"I know."


	126. Chapter 126 - In a Foxhole

Chapter 126 - In a Foxhole

They were back to walking through badlands again Pyrrha noted ruefully. While she was better equipped both mentally and in terms of attire for the journey, another six days of this was not an attractive prospect. But, it was one that she resignedly accepted. The whole thing was mitigated, albeit only slightly, by the fact that this wouldn't take quite as long as it had to get to Zion.

Now, they were going to a place called New Vegas.

As they were walking, Pyrrha found that now she was capable of walking more easily. This meant essentially that she was able to do so automatically, without any conscious thought or coordinated effort. This left her mind to wander. Fortunately for Pyrrha, her mind happened not to wander to one of the many horrific and psychologically damaging things she had seen, but rather on a fairly innocent question. Perhaps it was because she had had enough down time in Zion to sort herself out, at least enough that she could put off dealing with her issues for as long as she was willing to procrastinate for, but the main question she was asking herself was about their destination. Realizing that she was also physically capable of walking and talking without any real difficulty, she asked Markus.

"So, what exactly is New Vegas?"

A slight breeze blew some sand into Pyrrha's face just as finished asking the question. She coughed as the dry hard particulates entered her lungs.

"Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," Pyrrha coughed again, the feeling was terrible, "it was just some sand."

She gestured for him to continue to answering her question.

"It's a city. The biggest one in the area. It was called Las Vegas before the war. The city was spared the devastation of nuclear war by the 'benevolence' of Robert House owner of Robco, the company that Vault-tec partnered with to get the Pip-Boy made. The city was famous for gambling before the war, and still remains open for business to this day, though it has been recently annexed by the NCR. It's a somewhat dangerous place. The crime there is organized. More similar to something that you might find on Remnant."

Pyrrha nodded though Markus wasn't looking at her as they walked. His description was enough for her to remain preoccupied with her own thoughts on the idea of New Vegas as they walked.

The prospect of a proper city was appealing to her, seeing some semblance of industrialized civilization would be indicative that things perhaps weren't so different. The idea that there were cities where things were relatively normally and the areas outside them were incredibly hostile was a familiar one to Pyrrha.

It was only later at night when Pyrrha came up with her second question.

"So, if there's no Dust, how does everything work? How do you get power?"

Markus paused before answering. He spoke slowly, but Pyrrha still found it difficult to follow exactly what he said, simply because she wasn't sure what some key words meant.

"Power is generated by nuclear reactions, conceptually the same process that gave the weapons that destroyed this world their power but on a much smaller and much more controlled scale."

"What is a nuclear reaction?"

"Right, so this might be a bit complicated, but I'll try to make this as understandable as it can be. Basically everything is made up of particles called atoms. The atoms themselves are made up of various subatomic particles. The specifics of that and why they're important is not relevant, what _is_ important is that these subatomic particles are held together by very powerful bonds. When one of these bonds is broken or formed, a lot of energy is released. The former is called nuclear fission while the latter is called nuclear fusion. Fusion gives off more energy."

He looked at Pyrrha and asked, "Does that make sense?"

"I think I understand how it works, but I don't understand why it would work like that."

To Pyrrha there didn't seem to be much rationale behind the way any of this particle and energy stuff worked.

"There are explanations for why all of it functions as it does, but I don't feel at all qualified to teach it to you. If you're still interested in particle physics, ask me again when we're at the Sink."

Pyrrha doubted she was invested enough into finding answers for this information that she would actually remember to ask when they got back to that place that they had been before, apparently called the Sink. At this point she was used to only knowing how things worked. A lot of things on Remnant lacked proper explanations. Especially once she learned about the Maidens.

The lowest edge of the sun was beginning to dip below the horizon. The terrain was rough, with creases and defiles limiting visibility in any direction. Only rarely were they able to see for any distance.

On the next instance they did, Pyrrha knew something was wrong the second they were no longer able to. Markus immediately put his back against the side of defile and gestured for her to do the same. He materialized a carbine and whispered to her,

"Legion assassins. I didn't think they would send them this close to the NCR."

Pyrrha's heart began to pound. Assassins. There were people hunting her and her partner. Tracking them. Markus seemed to sense her nervousness.

"Don't worry too much about it. They've sent a lot of these guys after me. Just keep your head down and this should all be over quickly. But Pyrrha, I need you to be prepared to defend yourself."

She just looked at him, not responding in any way.

"Pyrrha, I'm going to leave you by yourself so that you don't get caught in the crossfire okay? I need you to defend yourself if you see a Legionnaire."

Pyrrha nodded slowly, as if in a daze.

"Good, I'll be back in a minute."

With that, Markus vaulted up over the side of the defile and Pyrrha heard a burst of suppressed gunfire from his weapon before a slew of multi caliber fire sounded in response. She would have covered her ears had she not been gripping her weapon so tightly her knuckles were turning white.

She didn't realize this though. Instead, her eyes darted from place to place looking for any sign of movement. Anything that might be Legion.

The anticipation that something would suddenly come into view was terrifying. It would then be determined entirely on how good her reflexes were.

Now, objectively speaking, Pyrrha had an exceptional reaction time and was highly trained at defending herself. But as she sat in that crevice, with hard sandstone against her back, waiting with bated breath for the barest sign of movement, all her ability was forgotten.

This was a life or death struggle that Pyrrha had no intent of losing. Her finger was on the trigger as she constantly scanned for anything. Listening. Hearing screams of pain, yells, and gunshots.

Then she heard something that was not right. She turned to her right the few degree she could. She saw a Legionnaire.

And she painted the cliff wall behind him with his brains.


	127. Chapter 127 - Haste

Chapter 127 - Haste

The Courier had developed a pretty basic doctrine for dealing with these parties of Frumentarii sent to kill him. They had shown up enough times that dealing with them had become a routine annoyance rather than a credible threat. But, the Legion being the Legion, the repeated massacring of their forces did not prevent them from sending more of their best and brightest the try and kill him the exact same way the previous group had.

It wasn't exactly a detailed doctrine, more just a simple philosophy that countered the simple ambush tactics used by the Frumentarii. Basically he kept moving, his enhanced speed making it very difficult for his enemies to target him and position themselves tactically. He would target those armed with Anti-Materiel Rifles first, followed by those with other firearms. However the threat really diminished once the Anti-Materiel Rifles were down. They were high enough caliber to pose a lethal threat to him even in his Elite Riot Armor. While other high caliber weapons were capable of piercing the armor, only the Anti-Materiel Rifle stood a good chance of doing enough damage that he would not be left in a condition to use a Stimpak.

Of course, things were a bit more complicated now. The standard strategy that could be described simply as "run and gun" was now complicated by the fact that he needed to keep track of Pyrrha's location while doing so.

Now, this complicated things more than one might think. Because of the fact that firearms existed, he could not simply remember Pyrrha's location and prevent anyone from getting near. No, instead he was forced to keep track of _every single Frumentarius_ and ensure Pyrrha was out of their line of sight. The latter took an incredible amount of brainpower to pull off as he was further forced to calculate the line of sight of each of the Frumentarii to ensure none of them could see Pyrrha.

There was no way this was possible. While the Courier did the best he could, he was well aware that he could not keep track of every single enemy and their lines of sight as he himself ran across the battlefield eliminating them one by one. Knowing that as long as this went on Pyrrha was in danger, Markus aimed to end this as quickly as possible. Unfortunately, that was his typical modus operandi, so nothing really changed except he took more risks that endangered himself in order for this to be over that much quicker.

The carbine he used allowed him fully automatic low caliber fire which was ideal for fast paced close quarters combat. The advantage it had over a shotgun was that with his opening VATS salvo he was able to eliminate the Frumentarii that carried Anti-Materiel Rifles.

The uneven ground worked to his advantage, with the long furrows giving him cover that allowed him enough freedom of movement to avoid getting pinned. This also meant that it was difficult for him to see the Frumentarii. This further frustrated his efforts to maintain a sufficient level of awareness to protect Pyrrha. His inability to see a large amount of the enemy further increased the risk towards Pyrrha and his necessity to end this.

The armor of the Frumentarii was, as with most of the Legion, of poor quality. There were few locations on Legion armor that were metal plated, and even fewer that were bulletproof, especially at this range. As the Courier moved methodically from one target to another, the 5.56 rounds proved more than sufficient to shred the bodies of the Frumentarii.

The Courier was pushing forward, advancing in the direction his assailants had come from. This was aimed to move the battle away from the defile in which Pyrrha was sheltering.

This was effective, to a degree, in that it did cause the enemy frontline to be moved further away from Pyrrha. However the Frumentarii did their best to encircle him, putting them close enough to Pyrrha to be a threat. The Courier instantly focused his attention on those trying to flank him and cut them down mercilessly.

Those unfortunate few that had left cover to attempt to gain better positions on the Courier had their chests utterly eviscerated by the high velocity rounds. Still, they were performing a classic double envelopment, thus with forces on both sides, the Courier was unable to eliminate all of them before a few of them found cover.

Once there were a few in cover, the Courier instantly moved to his right, changing position so that the new cover he found afforded him protection from those directly behind him and those to his left. While this still left him exposed to those in front of him, he had thinned them out considerably, and was generally capable of keeping them suppressed.

Generally, as the sharp impact of a few rounds to his armor underscored. However the melee preference of the Legion meant that there were very few firearms among the Frumentarii. Using VATS to dispatch the few that could see him, the Courier quickly took out one charging at him before moving to assault back towards where he had left Pyrrha. With the forces he was dealing with, for the moment all he could do was pray that Pyrrha was not spotted.

His attack was made at a run, firing at any Frumentarii he saw as they came into view. This was complicated by the fact that he was receiving crossfire from further to his right. However the effectiveness of the crossfire was mitigated by the fact that his constant movement and the speed of the movement. The limited fire that the Legion put up from his right went past him or impacted behind him.

Once there were no longer any Frumentarii directly in front of him, he turned towards his right, engaging the few hostiles he could see. He started to advance towards them, hoping the melee armed Frumentarii would break cover and charge. While the thermal lances wielded by the Legion were deadly, especially compared to their standard machetes, the fact was that the Courier could hit multiple targets in quick enough succession that being charged by multiple enemies meant that they almost never reached him.

The Legion being the Legion, the melee weapon armed Frumentarii broke cover and charged him. The first three dropped quickly, however the fourth managed to close close enough and his carbine clicked empty. The Courier let go of his weapon with one hand and punched the Frumentarius in the throat before the man could take the opportunity to strike him.

The man's entire neck was utterly destroyed by the Courier's fist. The ceramic plating on the glove helped reduce his target's throat to a bloody mess. Shaking the blood and gore off of his hand, the Courier swapped magazines and laid down some more fire against the remaining Frumentarii sheltering behind the defile towards his front.

It was then, that Markus heard a distinctive, silenced, shot discharged, and instantly knew what had happened. A feeling of dread came over him.


	128. Chapter 128 - The Burden

**AN:** Updates are resuming at normal schedule.

Chapter 128 - The Burden

None of it felt real. Pyrrha's weapon fell from her slack hands seemingly in slow motion. She slumped down further against the surface she was leaning against, staring wide eyed at what she had done.

At close range, even the entry wound of a .308 round was utterly devastating. The exit wound had destroyed the entire back of the man's skull, pouring out the contents.

The bullet was of such high velocity, and it was at such close range, that a red mist had descended upon Pyrrha, on occasion coalescing into red droplets on her skin. She tried to get them off, in frantic desperation, standing up awkwardly and scrambling away from the macabre reminder of what she had just done.

Even with more distance between herself and her victim, she could not tear her eyes away from his face. Or what remained of it after _she had shot him_.

The worst part was that she didn't feel _anything._ Well, she felt quite a few things, such as shock, and disbelief but crucially, not guilt. Or sadness. Or any of the things she expected to feel. In the end, she ended up with simply a feeling deep in her chest of breathlessness an incomprehension.

She couldn't understand it and didn't quite believe it. She said the words to herself in her mind, over and over again. _I killed him. I killed someone._ But the words felt hollow. There was no gut punch reaction to what had just happened. No sudden attack of grief.

This lead to Pyrrha questioning why? Why didn't she feel anything about this? She suddenly felt horror. Not at killing someone, but at not feeling horror towards herself for killing someone. She began to question herself. Who was she? She thought she had a good idea of who she was, what kind of person she was. But she had just killed someone.

She started to question her morality. She had thought she was a good person. But she had killed someone. And she didn't feel bad about it. But she did feel bad about not feeling bad, so where did that leave her?

She started to question her sanity. She felt a bit insane. The semantics of her emotions seemed borderline nonsensical. She had killed someone and hadn't felt anything. Did that make her a psychopath? Was she totally absent of empathy? Was she incapable of feeling anything about the life she had just ended?

The Courier found Pyrrha in just about the second worst position-scratch that-third worst position he could have expected. Unlike the worse possibilities, it was not Pyrrha's brain matter that decorated the sandstone, and Markus would not have been able to articulate how glad he was that was the case.

Still, the sentence "it could have been worse," was little comfort given the scenario. She was sitting with her back against the defile but several meters away from where he had left her. Her eyes were fixed in a thousand-yard-stare at the face of the man she had just killed.

Pyrrha had killed someone. The Courier felt a sensation of an utter failure to protect her. Second to bodily harm, this was one of the most critical things to shelter her from. In some ways, bodily harm was less drastic. Virtually anything short of death, he could heal. This, this, he had no idea how to help.

The manner in which she had killed the Frumentarius was not terribly helpful. While the kill was not one in cold blood and in essentially the most direct form of self defence, it was at close range, and..well messy. Looking at Pyrrha's hunched figure, Markus could see dark droplets lingering on the pouches of the Dragonscale armor. Close quarters kills were always the worst psychologically, second only to close quarters kills with melee weapons. The feeling of a blade through flesh remained unsettling even for the practiced hands of the Courier. While Pyrrha had killed with very clear justification, she also had a very traumatizing visual now to accompany and reinforce the emotions she felt. Now there was a very human face, visibly destroyed by her actions. It would difficult to devise a more fitting motif to haunt her.

Playing psychologist was incredibly difficult when he had some very compelling first-hand evidence that nothing he said would work. This _was_ a major deal, and was something that he didn't know how to approach. His own methods amounted to little more than ignoring the problem and ensuring he never had enough time to address it. But, that wasn't viable for Pyrrha and certainly wasn't any healthier for her than it was for him. Considering her survivability, it was actually more dangerous for her. She couldn't and most certainly shouldn't do what he had done.

Well, that ruled out literally the only solution he knew of. The Courier could easily see the parallels between his own experiences and Pyrrha's current predicament, though the word "predicament" was something of an understatement. Still, he was familiar with the experience of leaving a highly sheltered environment and being thrust into an unforgiving kill or be killed world.

And he was familiar with having had to kill someone. He was also familiar with the process of justifying it and trying to come to terms with the guilt. While he had been able to carry on with doing what he felt needed to be done, the Lone Courier knew that he had utterly failed at that task. While he had long since accepted the fact that he killed people and he needed to kill people, he had never come to terms with it, never reconciled it with his aversion to ending people's lives.

It was a twisted sort of irony. _"Killing is wrong," said the killer._ Rationally, everything that he done was justified in a moral sense. The people he had killed deserved death. No one faulted him for killing them. Indeed, they had sanctified him for it. But that didn't help. The emotional reaction, and the deep seated disgust and self loathing Markus held were, like most emotions, unable to be rationalized away.

For all his pretense of being an emotionless automaton, working tirelessly for the greater good, the Courier was still as burdened by his emotions as anyone else. Perhaps more because he refused to address them.

And now, he was forced to confront them. But not in himself, instead he would have to help Pyrrha deal with the same emotions that had frustrated all his attempts to overcome them.

The Lone Courier had done the impossible many times in his short career, but he had never doubted his ability as much as he did in this moment.

But, there was one fact that would give him at least a small reprieve. If nothing else, he had time. The way to Vegas was long, but once he was there, well things would be easier. Perhaps he could get Pyrrha some help that had more experience with this sort of thing.

The Courier dematerialized the rifle from where it lay abandoned on the dusty sandstone. He walked between Pyrrha and the body of the man she had killed. She didn't react.

"We need to leave. These bodies will attract cazadores or worse."

Still no reaction.

Markus walked up to Pyrrha and crouched so that their eyes were level.

"Hey, it's going to be alright. We need to keep moving though. Things will be better once we're away from this place."

Pyrrha finally made eye contact.

"I...I killed him."

Markus maintained eye contact. He didn't have words.

"We should keep going."

The eye contact continued. Pyrrha still had the thousand yard stare.

"Okay."

Her voice was small, and the word came out haltingly, but nevertheless, Pyrrha allowed herself to be helped to her feet, and led south. The Courier made an effort to avoid the body. He could see Pyrrha avoiding looking at the corpse. A development. What it meant, he couldn't tell at this point.

The two of them walked towards the south as the sun set on their right, leaving the bodies of the Legion to the scavengers. More of the best and brightest of the Legion had become carrion.


	129. Chapter 129 - Clarity

Chapter 129 - Clarity

When they finally halted, Pyrrha was ready to collapse. It had been eighteen hours since they had left Zion and they had not halted since the Legion assassins assaulted them. At this point, all the mental capacity Pyrrha possessed was focused on putting one foot in front of the other. While previously she had been willfully doing so to avoid having to think of recent events, now it genuinely took all her willpower simply to keep going.

This meant that when they finally stopped, she was so physically drained that anguishing over what had just transpired was simply beyond the realm of her ability. As she quickly fell asleep, Pyrrha was pretty certain that this was planned by her partner, but didn't have time to figure out how she felt about that before she was engulfed by her dreams.

No longer restrained by her waking-mind's willpower-and fatigue-Pyrrha's mind made her suppressed emotions manifest in her dreams.

Pyrrha woke up with a feeling of panicky guilt. However, second she woke up, she forgot her dreams. Despite the fact that she could not remember what had transpired in them, she was aware that they had occurred. Vaguely she remembered the faces of their friends from Beacon, but little else.

Yet the sudden feeling of guilt over what she had done burned strongly with her, and she had no doubt, it had come from the dream.

And then Pyrrha started crying. The tears flowed as she lay there in the twilight of the early morning. And it felt good to feel bad about what she had done. To know that she was not able to kill guiltlessly.

Still, while it felt good to stop bottling up her emotions, Pyrrha was left in not a good place. Since she had arrived here events had been a cascading nightmare. Things had continually gotten worse as everything she thought she knew about herself and the world was questioned. Pyrrha didn't know where to go from here. She felt lost, and this was something no one, not even Markus, could help her with. The challenge before her was to reconcile all she had been through with her morals and conscience. Everything had happened so quickly that she had not had the time to deal with one issue before the next arose.

Ironically, while it was still incredibly emotionally painful, Pyrrha found recent events the easiest to reconcile with morally. No matter how guilty she felt, the fact remained that she had truly had no choice. If she had not pulled the trigger, there was no doubt in her mind that she would have died. While she still _felt_ tremendously guilty and still felt bad about killing someone Pyrrha knew it was not her fault and did not blame herself.

So where did that leave her? Well, knowing that the fact she had been forced to kill someone did not violate her character was sufficient comfort for Pyrrha to be able to go on. However it did force her to modify her worldview. Now she believed and understood that killing was necessary in certain circumstances. However she felt that this was a dangerous slippery slope that could lead to her justifying things that were immoral because she told herself they were necessary. However Pyrrha had enough conviction and the circumstances were simple enough that she could silence her doubts and say definitively that she had done the right thing.

While her eyes were still watery, the tears had stopped flowing. She would bear this pain like any other and continue regardless. But continue on towards what?

Pyrrha sat up very slowly and carefully. She looked over to the still sleeping form of her partner. He was still wearing his armor. No doubt he was incredibly uncomfortable in it, but he wore it anyway. His paranoia brooked no alternative. It was not often Pyrrha saw her friend asleep. He looked somewhat vulnerable, lying there. After all she had learned about him in the past couple of weeks, after all the incomprehensible things she knew he had done, it was a reminder that he was still human. Silly as it might seem, it reminded her that he was still the same person she had met at Beacon, despite the enigmas of his past.

This also brought up Pyrrha's increasingly confused feelings towards him. Even back on Remnant her feelings had always been...confused. Their closeness as a result of being partners and friends for so long was always tempered by the fact that he was keeping secrets. Of course, back then his enigmaticness only added to the appeal, but now, now with his identity revealed, more than Pyrrha's reaction to what he had done, she felt that, to a degree, she did not know him.

True, she knew what kind of person he was and how he worked, but she didn't know the why. Of course, nothing she felt towards him (on any level) had gone away, but all of it had been added to a melting pot of emotions and vague feelings that left her emotionally confused towards him.

A large part of it was the fact that she simply didn't know why. Why he did anything he did. It could be that he was like her, and wanted to be a hero. And being a hero here lead to him doing the things that he had done. But it could also have been any number of things. She didn't know his past and the parts she did know she couldn't understand. Pyrrha being Pyrrha, and not being socially awkward, did not know how to broach the subject and Markus did not seem to be volunteering the information readily.

And so she was left in an odd state of knowing but also not knowing many things about him which left her with a very odd mix of emotions regarding him. As dawn was beginning to break, Pyrrha lay back down, deciding to sleep until Markus decided that they should continue. The events of the previous day were exhausting enough. She would take as much rest as she could get. With a greater peace of mind, Pyrrha fell asleep.


	130. Chapter 130 - Ignorance is Misery

Chapter 130 - Ignorance is Misery

Markus awoke sharply, as he always did, at exactly the time determined by his Pip-boy. It was quite early in the morning, though the sun was now fully over the horizon. They needed to keep moving. Time was of the essence. Markus did not know how long they had, all he knew was that if he couldn't get the NCR to act quickly enough, a lot of people would die.

He sighed as looked at the sleeping form of Pyrrha. He wondered how she was managing. While he had come to understand her, and how she worked over the past few months, he still couldn't tell how she would react to this. This was such an extreme circumstance, literally a once in a lifetime event that basically any reaction was viable.

However, as far as he could tell, she seemed to have held up quite well. The fact that she was still alive meant that at least the very worst possibility had been avoided, and the fact that she had kept going throughout the entire previous day meant that, at the very least, she was functional and mobile. As heartless as it sounded, they could afford to be delayed by this.

Speaking of not being delayed, it was time to get moving. He stood up and walked over to Pyrrha. It was with no small amount of apprehension that he gently woke her. The fact was that there was no way of telling what kind of emotional state she was in, and where a night of rest had left her.

Things seemed to be going well once she got up rather quickly, especially considering how long the previous day had been. Perhaps she was attempting to avoid dealing with the previous day's events?

Now, looking at her, the Courier remained at a loss for words, just as he had been twelve hours earlier. What do you say to someone that just had to kill for the first time? Did anyone know? Learning the mentality to kill was what professional soldiers spent months learning to do and even those conditioned to do it still ended up traumatized and guilt ridden for it.

Pyrrha was in the same position that he had been in, and he needed to help her do better than he had done in dealing with it. If she went down the same path that he did, she would certainly get herself killed. Hell, if she even started to she would die. Well, basic psychological and emotional support would be a good place to start.

"I want you to know that you did the right thing. The world is a much better place with you alive and a Legionnaire dead than vice versa."

Pyrrha didn't make eye contact and totally ignored the reassurances.

"We should get going. The tribes are counting on us."

The Courier looked at Pyrrha for a couple seconds. So that was what she was doing. Well, she would need to confront the issue more directly, but if she wanted to put it off, it might be best not to force it. Perhaps some distance could be helpful. In any case, they _did_ need to keep going.

Gesturing for her to follow, the Courier began to walk South-West, towards where he knew the bright lights of Vegas were.

After a few hours of the monotonous walk through the badlands, they arrived at the Long 15, the great length of asphalt that would lead them to the Mojave. Traveling by road would be quicker, but riskier. However with the stakes what they were, speed was above all else. Besides, maybe the NCR had managed to increase security out here. _As if_.

While she remained silent, Markus could tell that Pyrrha was relieved to be on a proper road. He found it slightly amusing how much she was projecting her emotions non-verbally for this to be understood by him effortlessly.

As the Courier scanned the horizon incessantly, he realized that Pyrrha remained disarmed. She had not mentioned it, and he hadn't really thought of it, but he had not given her back the M14. And he wasn't sure if it was a good idea to do so. While the previous day's events had proven it was critical for Pyrrha to be armed, there was a very real possibility that at this point arming her could do more harm than good. Firstly, there was the fact that the weapon was a very potent symbol of recent events. It was the implement used to kill another person, and thus it was possible that as a result of her attempts to emotionally distance herself from said events she would simply not want to touch something so directly involved. There was also the fact the merely arming Pyrrha when she was in such a fragile mental state was in and of itself a danger to her safety. Simply put, Pyrrha was a potential danger to herself, and arming her would increase the magnitude of the danger.

However, all the philosophizing became irrelevant the second trouble was spotted on the horizon, in this case, literally. Silhouettes were easy to see, even though mountains now blocked the sky on the horizon. The second humanoid figures were seen, the Courier pressed the M14 into Pyrrha's hands and pulled her with him into a crouch, lowering their own silhouettes. While the Courier's effective range of vision was far greater than virtually anyone else's, it was best to take early precautions.

The Courier materialized the CoS rifle and used its scope as a means of identifying the

"Who are they?"

Pyrrha managed to speak impressively quietly for someone with little experience in that regard.

"Slavers. They're more common, and were more organized, in the Capital Wasteland, but I guess they've sprouted up where the Legion backed off."

There were only three of them. Well, there were four people in total, but the fourth was a slave. That made for three targets. Good, this shouldn't Put Pyrrha in any danger at least.

The Courier waited for a couple minutes to allow the slavers to get closer. If he missed any of the shots at long range it was entirely possible for the slaves to kill the slave out of spite. Thus, once they got to a point he deemed "close enough," the Courier activated VATS and shot each one of them. He then instantly broke cover and ran towards the slave.

The slave collars were tricky things, not the best designed, and not best manufactured, the Courier knew that he needed to get it off of the man, as he saw the slave was, as quickly as possible. The fact that it hadn't gone off immediately gave him reasonable hopes of success.

The disarming of the device went quickly, the Courier had had enough experience with removing these that unless they had been specifically improved to be tamperproof by someone who knew what they were doing, he could get one off in mere moments.

The man who he rescued was naturally immensely grateful.

"Thank you. Thank you. My-my- family, they still have my family."

The man was young, probably in his thirties, and in relatively good shape. Either he had been caught recently or whoever had him valued their slaves enough to keep them in good shape. Despite the fact it was in their self interest to do so, slavers often disregarded the well being of the slaves entirely.

As Pyrrha walked up to where he faced the newly freed man, the Courier handed him the service rifle one of the slavers had carried and a few magazines of 5.56 ammo.

"Where are they?"

"They had them at a camp, east of here."

This, now this was a dilemma. Well that was understating a lot of things. This was the utterly infuriating aspect of the world, the unfairness of it. The injustice that this scenario presented, and all scenario's like it did, was that despite all his best intentions, he could not know what the right thing to do was.

If he delayed, it was possible that the time spent on this might cost the lives of all of Zion. But, if he were to not involve himself in this, he would he haunted by his inaction no matter the outcome of the battle for Zion and no matter how much he justified it as necessary.

God he hated decisions.


	131. Chapter 131 - Moral Arithmetic

Chapter 131 - Moral Arithmetic

Well fuck. Two sides of the Lone Courier wrestled with one another before one finally won out.

"Alright, let's go. Lead on," Markus said to the newly freed man.

While he might come to regret it, the fact was that a matter of hours would not decide the fate of Zion. If there had been a hard time limit in how quickly he needed to relieve Zion that was anywhere close to imminent, it would have been a different story. As it was, the time of Zion's doom was both nebulous and distant. The Legion were poorly equipped for eliminating an insurgency. Strategic and political actions on this scale were not measured in hours. There was no possible scenario that the NCR could be _hours_ too late. Either they would be effective, or they would not. It would not be because somehow all of Zion had been wiped out hours earlier. He hoped.

The Courier was forcing himself to trust that Graham could hold out long enough, and simply survive long enough, that these few hours wouldn't matter.

There was also the fact that he knew just how unlikely it was that he would find that a delay of a few hours had mattered. Sure, he would be tremendously guilty if he returned to find the tribes slaughtered because he was eight hours two late, but the alternative was feeling tremendously guilty for leaving a man's family enslaved because he was too busy to help. The latter was a certainty, whereas the former was still unlikely. While the odds were heavily in his favor, the stakes were still higher than he would have liked.

The man lead them at a pace substantially faster than the one they had been traveling at, nearly jogging. It was evident from this, and his body language, the urgency and need he felt to get to his family.

Seeing his desperation, Markus felt reassured that he had made the right decision. He would have felt terrible abandoning someone to make a suicidal rescue attempt. Besides, wiping out slavers was generally a good thing to do. Killing bad people was his own warped way of making the world a better place, day by day.

The other concern was Pyrrha. Markus made sure that she went ahead of him so that he could keep an eye on her. He was still massively concerned about her psychological state. This detour probably wouldn't help either. It only gave her more nightmare fuel and stark reminders of the horrors she had been witness, and more recently party, to.

However the Courier's thoughts on dealing with Pyrrha's mental state was shoved to the back of his mind upon arrival to their destination. The small hill they summited gave them a commanding view of their target.

This was bad. He had expected some kind of camp, or at worst something resembling the forward operating base the 80's had set up, but not this. _This_ was something else.

The actual location that the slavers had set up was a heavily defended compound around the remains of a small pre-war town. It reminded him uncomfortably of Paradise Falls. Just from first impressions, the Courier could that this rescue was going to be messy. But first things first.

"Do you know where they're being kept?" asked the Courier.

"Yes, See that building?" the man pointed to one of the buildings, originally a two story house, the second story had been totally destroyed by the two hundred years since its abandonment, "We were kept in one's that basement. They should still be there. I hope.."

Markus nodded.

"Alright, follow me."

He lead them around the outside of the fortified compound, keeping them low and at sufficient distance that they would not be seen by the attentive sentries stationed on shoddily built lookout towers that dotted the outside of the converted town.

Once they were near the building that supposed held the man's family, the Courier slowly began bringing them closer, using the sparse cover afforded by the terrain to conceal their advance. Fortunately there was no tower directly facing their approach, but the Courier kept an eye on the sentries, ready to put one of them down if they showed any sign of spotting them.

They took cover behind a rock outcropping a few meters from the target building. He took out the goggles and switched them to electromagnetic mode. Looking through them, he scanned the building. No one inside, though it was likely the signatures of the people in the basement would be too faint for him to see.

"The building is clear."

"What now?" asked Pyrrha.

"I'll create a distraction," the Courier now addressed the man, "wait for the attention to be focused on me, and then get in, get your family and get out."

"What do you want me to do?" asked Pyrrha.

"Try to help him if you can. If all goes well," the Courier glanced at the rescued man, "there should be no resistance."

The Courier really wanted to avoid having Pyrrha do anything that would further damage her psyche. He also couldn't directly tell her to stay out of this for her own benefit without damaging her already fragile sense of self-worth. Hopefully she could accompany or cover this man without any resistance, still being involved and accomplishing something, but without having to kill someone.

"How will we know when the diversion happens?" asked the man.

"Oh trust me, you'll know."

With that, the Courier left, moving quickly and quietly to another corner of the compound. A diversion needed to away from the main thrust after all.

While the reason they had come here was to rescue this man's family, the Courier had no intention of leaving these slavers in peace once they had retrieved his family. Thus, not only was this diversion planned to give the man the opportunity to rescue his family, but it would also provide the Courier with an opportunity to kill all the slavers.

While he knew it wasn't healthy, the Courier always felt a savage satisfaction when he killed a slaver-or legionnaire for that matter-in that it was the most basic, brutal vengeance.

While normally the Courier would take out an encampment of slavers either stealthily or from a distance, the Slavers were far too closely packed and too numerous for either to be efficient. Therefore his diversion and elimination method was far more direct and far more messy.

The Courier hugged the outer barricade of the compound, easily slipping inside unseen. He quickly moved to one of the sentry towers, and started to climb it in a...less than conventional manner. The haphazard construction provided enough handholds for him to scramble to the top.

Once there, it was a simple matter of putting the point of his trench knife through the sentry's throat, before punching it forward. This action ripped out the man's esophagus, spilling a graphic amount of blood. While this method was rather grim, it was also the quietest method for dispatching someone. Now at the top of one of the sentry towers, the Courier looked to his Pip-boy. As he crouched there, he equipped his heavily modified T-51B power armor and the Sprtel-Wood 9700.

The Lone Courier stood up and opened fire.


	132. Chapter 132 - Rock Bottom

Chapter 132 - Rock Bottom

Pyrrha and the man they had rescued waited tensely once Markus had left. As the minutes dragged on, the tension slowly broke down into hushed small talk. While they were close to the compound, Markus had told them no one was near, and the ambient noises of the landscape were loud enough that quiet conversation was possible without being utterly irresponsible.

It was the man who opened

"My name's Derek, so who are you?"

"I'm Pyrrha, and he's…" Pyrrha paused for a moment, she was originally going to say Markus, but on second thought she said, "the Courier."

She wasn't entirely sure why she had decided not to give his proper name. The only rationale that she had was that everyone in Zion, even those that knew him relatively well, called him that.

The reaction of the man they had rescued, Derek was his name she reminded herself, told her that this decision may have been more meaningful than she had intended.

"The..The Courier? That's the Courier? Courier Six?"

Now she had an opportunity to learn more about her partner. It seemed out of everyone here, she knew the least.

"Do you know him?"

"I know _of_ him. Who doesn't? He's a living legend if you believe even one of the stories about him."

She had sort of gathered that, but this did show just how prolific his reputation was.

"Like what?"

While the question might betray her ignorance, she was unwilling to pass up the opportunity, and was downright to curious, not to ask.

"That he killed Caesar in the middle of his own camp, surrounded by his Praetorians, or that he beheaded Lanius and threw him off Hoover Dam."

She would need to ask about both of those. She wasn't sure why Markus was keeping her in the dark, and the fact that Derek had mentioned these incidents gave her a way to bring them up that wouldn't make her feel massively awkward.

"So how'd you end up with the Courier?"

Well, here it goes again. At the rate she'd been having to answer this question, she might even learn how to lie properly.  
"I...he found me in a vault and I've been traveling with him since then."

She just hoped that he wouldn't ask for specifics. She wasn't very good at lying, and worse at making this up on the spot.

"That makes sense, there are rumors that he sometimes has traveling companions."

Beyond being relieved that she wasn't going to be interrogated, the fact that Markus had had traveling companions was interesting to Pyrrha. She felt a bit silly for not thinking about it before, but logically speaking Markus would know people, if not have friends, here beyond just people he had helped.

With a lull in the conversation, Pyrrha felt a pressure to keep it going.

"What family do you have in there?"

"My wife and my daughter," he looked away his voice anguished, "They did… terrible things to them."

With the benefit of hindsight, that was not the best question to ask. Pyrrha knew what he meant. She guessed as well that the reason he hadn't said it in more explicit terms was her youth. But there was no doubt. His family had been raped. This was a reminder to Pyrrha that for all she had witnessed, there was still worse that she had not. Markus' descriptions of Nipton were bad enough. She did not want to witness anything even remotely close to it.

However in addition to the horror, revulsion, and sadness she felt, she also felt an indignant rage; put more poetically, a righteous fury. In the face of such monstrous injustice and cruelty, Pyrrha thought more favorably towards violent means. While this did not imply that she could kill guiltlessly, or even kill effectively, but it meant that she was far more likely to endorse such a course of action.

Which was why the prospect of Markus wiping out the entirety of this camp, sparing none of these unimaginably unethical individuals was more satisfying than it was anything else.

This scared her,

Silence had reigned since the last weighty sentence had been spoken. It has harshly interrupted why a cacophony of disparate noises.

"That's our cue."

They had almost forgotten that they were in relatively close proximity to the enemy for the duration of their little conversation. The sounds of death and high velocity plasma and gunfire were a harsh snap back to the present situation.

"Alright, let's go."

Pyrrha made the decision to accompany Derek into the building. A feeling burned in her chest. She wasn't sure whether she could kill again, but she had proved she was willing to do so to save herself. This was purposefully putting herself in the line of fire. It was putting herself in a situation where she would need to either kill or be killed. But she would do it. There was no other course of action.

She wanted to be a hero after all, here was her self sacrifice. She would do what was needed to save innocents from monsters. Framing it like that steeled her nerve and helped her work up the courage to follow Derek over the makeshift wall.

They both took up positions on opposite sides of the door to the building that held his family.

"Ready?" he asked, holding the makeshift rifle he had gotten from one of the slavers.

Pyrrha nodded solemnly.

Derek went in first, his rifle at the ready, Pyrrha followed, scanning desperately for any movement. She kept her finger further from the trigger than she normally would have however. She knew that there were innocents in this place as well. She would need to determine whether movement was slaver or slave before she fired. This raised her tension and stress further.

The room was clear, just as it had been when Markus had scanned it. There was a small trapdoor in the ground that presumably lead to the basement in a far corner. Derek ran over to it, and leaned his rifle against the corner of the building.

He glanced up at her and said, "Cover me."

Pyrrha swallowed and pointed her weapon at the far door. The sounds of battle were drawing closer and she was worried that it would bring attention to the area they were in. She worried what would happen if she saw someone come through that door. Would she shoot? When should she shoot? How quickly could she determine whether it was a slave or slaver? If it was the latter could she bring herself to pull the trigger.

She was distracted from her panicky hypotheticals by an unmistakable and deeply unnerving sound that sounded even over the chaotic din of the surrounding battle. A child was crying.


	133. Chapter 133 - One Man Army

Chapter 133 - One Man Army

The second the Courier opened fire, there was no doubt that he had successfully drawn the attention of everyone, slave and slaver alike, in the compound. His first targets were the other sentry towers. The green lasers were of sufficient concentration and had a high enough rate of fire that the short burst fire by the Courier were enough to utterly destroy each of the structures. Most collapsed, though a couple still remained standing but with the actual part one would stand on a smouldering ruin.

This first barrage was aimed specifically at clearing the positions that would provide the slavers with overwatch as that threatened the movements of Pyrrha and the man they had rescued. At the ground level, visibility was far more restricted, allowing for an easier time of avoiding enemy contact.

While the first strike had been his, the dozens of slavers visible knew where he was, and were about to retaliate. He had faith that his armor would hold against whatever they could throw at him. It was best however not to get hit, even in Power Armor. No system was foolproof, and Murphy's Law had no exceptions. Before he could determine his next course of action, the Courier heard-and felt-a creaking. As he felt the tower he stood on start to collapse under the weight of his armor, he jumped. While it wasn't particularly high, or particularly dangerous, he nevertheless fired the thrusters on his armor to cushion the impact. The "jetpack" he had modified into the armor did not properly allow flight, but was a more basic system that provided him with vertical mobility.

The reason he had at all bothered to cushion his landing was that while the armor prevented bodily harm, the forces of a ton of armor smashing into the ground were disorienting. The cushioned landing allowed him to land guns blazing. Well, "guns blazing" was not necessarily the correct phrase, considering he was forced to identify each target before eliminating them. While he hoped that slaves would have enough good sense to run away from gunfire, he was not taking chances. Still, tr Courier was experienced enough at target identification to maintain a near continuous stream of fire.

So far he had yet to be hit. He had avoided a substantial amount of fire simply by jumping down. His position in the tower had left him exposed to fire from the entire compound. Of course, it had also made him visible to the entire camp, which was more to the point. Now that he had their attention the close quarters fighting on the ground would make it difficult for them to concentrate fire on him.

The initial area he had landed in was clear within seconds of his jump. He was on the opposite side of the compound to the location where the man's family was being held. That building, as well as the man and Pyrrha, were about three-quarters back and on the left. His best bet was to assault to the far right corner from his position, coming near enough to their position to attract the attention of anyone there, but far enough not to draw attention onto the location.

The Courier gunned down a group of slavers that had rushed towards his position with more haste than prudence, and their bodies disintegrated into small bursts of radiation. They never got a shot off.

He went building to building, ensuring that they were clear, however it quickly became apparent that there were far more structures than were being used, and clearing them was something that would diminish the effectiveness of his diversion. The sparsely manned buildings would have to remain uncleared for the time being. While this made it easier for him to be ambushed, he didn't have much choice in the matter. He didn't like it, but those were the facts, and no one was obligated to like the facts.

The Courier's plan was now simply to march through the camp, taking out anything hostile.

He knew he had wasted too much time when bullets started ricocheting off his armor. Evidently the slavers had taken the time to set up an organized defense in depth for him. Accurate fire from targets in cover was still insufficient to damage him. The low caliber of their weapons meant that he was still in no real danger. They mostly used 5.56 and .223 rounds, though a few of them had larger longer rifles that would be chambered for .308 or 7.62. Even those rifle caliber rounds were unlikely to so much as scratch the paint on the power armor. Theoretically the armor was impervious even to .50 caliber fire, but the Courier had been exceedingly careful to avoiding putting that fact to the test.

In any case, the Courier made swift progress, cutting a bloody path through the hastily arranged defenses of the slavers. Now he actually seeing some of the slaves. While a few remained bound in some capacity that prevented them from fleeing, he saw far more with explosive collars getting as far away from him as they could. He assumed that the collars were designed to prevent them escaping the compound. They didn't need to leave to avoid him though, so they should still be able to get themselves to safety.

The slavers themselves paid no attention to the slaves, panicking too much about the walking tank in their midst to even bother with any concerns other than survival.

Occasionally explosives would be thrown his way, but the vast majority missed by distances that would not have harmed him even out of power armor, and the rest were primarily shrapnel based in terms of lethality, and thus rendered totally ineffective by his armor.

He had emerged into an unusual location for his assault, an rather open area, with several buildings facing into this central empty space he was now in. Before he could reach the obvious conclusion presented by the evidence, the sound of rockets being fired jolted the Courier out of his tactical analysis and into VATS.

There were several projectiles, each from a different window, and different direction. Well, time to hope his luck didn't fail him. Naturally, the Courier braced for impact.

The act of shooting rockets out of the air was effectively impossible. Without VATS that was. With it, accomplishing the impossible was more likely than not.

Still, with the amount of rockets headed his way, a couple made it past with barrage of anti-air fire unscathed. Fortunately neither was a direct hit, though the explosions in close proximity staggered him and rattled his teeth.

While he had survived the first barrage of the ambush (as the ricochets off his armor told him it was) he was still in a very bad position. All six rocket launcher armed slavers were still up, and a veritable hail of bullets poured at him from every open window.

He would have loved to throw a grenade through one of the windows, but he couldn't be sure there were no slaves in there.

His own highly accurate return fire did destroy many of the assailants, but the fact was that he didn't know where any of the rocket armed slavers were as while they were reloading they were all in cover. He couldn't keep standing in the open waiting for the second salvo. So, he changed tactic. Equipping his AA-12, he ran into his nearest structure, taking the fight to close quarters.


	134. Chapter 134 - Methodical Execution

Chapter 134 - Methodical Execution

Close quarters combat with a shotgun, especially a fully automatic one, was a brutal and bloody affair. Targets died gorily and quickly, though not instantly. There was little doubt that evisceration by shotgun was nothing less than a torturous death with its expediency being the only solace.

And of course, everything was more personal. The Courier didn't much like that aspect of it. It was much more difficult to remain emotionally detached from one's actions when the consequences were so immediate, visceral, and humanized. Nevertheless, being generally a lone combatant, his two most common tactics were to fight either from very long range, or very short. Both typically employed stealth and misdirection. Being outnumbered, the last thing he wanted was to engage the enemy in a conventional firefight.

Of course, now he was storming through buildings, clearing them with lethal efficiency, using the close quarters fighting to spread confusion and prevent the concentration of fire against him due to the limited visibility imposed by the close walls.

More importantly, this new method prevented the utilization of the rocket launchers that the slavers had been attempting to employ against him.

He had only assaulted through the ground floors of the buildings, knowing that it was unlikely he could climb half-destroyed, two hundred year old stairs in power armor. The center of mass shots he favored at this range painted the cramped rooms red from the particularly gruesome deaths dealt to the slavers.

With all ground floors cleared, only one of the launchers had been neutralized. The rest were positioned somewhere on the upper floor of the buildings. Of course, this presented a problem. For reasons previously mentioned, he couldn't simply walk in in full power armor as he had on the ground floor. As well, he couldn't simply destroy the second story of each building along with all its occupants for fear of civilians being present. While those on the ground floor had been able to make themselves scarce before or during his assault, it was entirely feasible that some slaves might be hiding on the second floor, unwilling to risk trying to escape or being held there as hostages.

While the latter was unlikely given that slavers had so far given no indications that they were aware that this was a rescue, or who he was, it was nevertheless a possibility that needed to be planned for. With matters involving lives, one could never be too cautious. The value of a single one lost was immense and incalculable.

Given these constraints, things were about to get more difficult. He was going to have to forgo his power armor and attempt to breach and clear each floor, room to room, watching for hostages and now vulnerable to bullets. He should have known things had been too easy.

As the Courier switched to his Elite Riot Armor, he reminded himself that five rocket armed slavers were still in play. While they should be unable to use such weapons effectively in quarters as close as these, he needed to be prepared, at least mentally, for them to do so anyway in a suicidal act of desperation or simply out of sheer panic.

He swapped out his shotgun for the silence MP5A4. While the submachine gun was not the ideal weapon for close quarters combat, with its barrel being slightly longer than convenient, it was the best he had available to him at the moment, and the best he had found in the wasteland. On paper the AA-12 would be better, what with the weapon's specialization for CQB, but with hostages in play, the Courier could not afford to try using a sledgehammer to do the job of a scalpel.

He crept up the stairs of the first of the four two story buildings silently, head on a swivel, scanning for any sign of the enemy. The stairs were an inherent choke point and ideal for setting up a defensive position. Anyone remotely familiar with the defensive of structures knew that it was where one was most exposed.

Naturally, it was totally unoccupied.

He really shouldn't have been surprised by slavers' lack of tactical competence and common sense, but nevertheless he was. Forcing himself to focus on the matter at hand, there appeared to be only one way forward, only one door from the stairs.

He took up a position on one side of the door. He prepared to breach, hollowpoint rounds loaded. He kicked at the door's handle and activated VATS before the door hit the ground.

A brief scanning of the room's occupants indicated that there were no civilians present. Good. There were a total of five hostiles. Double Tap to the center of mass.

Execute.

The weak cover they hid behind offered no protection against the 5.56 rounds at this distance.

A rocket launcher lay on the ground. _Two down._ The Courier gave each a parting shot to the head before moving to the next door. The first room had taken up most of floor, it was likely that the remaining room was unoccupied.

Nevertheless, he executed the same breaching procedure with the same mental preparedness to face a room full of guns.

Instead of opposition, he found corpses.

Slaves, not slavers though. The Courier lowered his weapon and let out a heavy sigh. He turned, and closed the door on the family of corpses, bodies once living mere minutes ago.

As he re-entered the first room, the Courier took notice of something.

A window.

While "a window" may seem to be a trivial, obvious, and irrelevant thing to notice, the Courier had come to a rather unorthodox idea involving them.

Smashing the frame and pane with his armored arm, the Courier vaulted out and onto the slanted roof. The remaining slavers were no doubt holed up awaiting his arrival up the stairs. Not through a window. This way, he could open the battle with the element of surprise, something deadly at this close range.

The slanted nature of the roof allowed him to remain undetected by any slavers who happened to be looking out their own windows. He was highly exposed to rocket and rifle fire up here were he to be detected. While the roof provided protection from observation he would be all out in the open if he was seen. Before making the jump from one building to the other, he made sure that none of the windows he could see had anyone looking out of them.

Now on the second building, he started to move towards one of the windows, before taking up a position near it just as he had for the door. He breached, this time not even using VATS.

One large room. The dividing walls had been worn down and demolished long ago.

Six targets. Weapons in hands. Open fire.

Six bodies hit the floor.

They had not stood a chance. Upturned furniture and other forms of makeshift cover faced the stars, none of it providing the barest amount of protection from his onslaught. Two rocket launchers lay abandoned on the ground. _Four down._ _Two to go._

He hurriedly left the building by the window he had entered it. Hopefully no one had noticed the fact that he had entered and slaughtered the occupants of this building.

He jumped to the third building, planning on doing the exact same thing he had done on the previous one. Then, he saw the trail of a rocket speeding towards the building whose roof he was standing on.


	135. Chapter 135 - Blunt Force

Chapter 135 - Blunt Force

It took the Courier a couple seconds to realize that he was still alive. His ears rang and a lot of things hurt. It was good that he felt pain, as at the moment it was the only real indication of his situation. The pain was, well painful, but a dull shallow pain rather than sharp and deep. If all had gone well, he had only suffered bruises.

Groggily he sat up, looking around him for his weapon. The matte-black paintjob made it stand out from underneath the smoldering, splintered wood. All buts its lower receiver covered. Pulling it free, the Courier stood up and inspected it. Seemed fine. The solid stock and short barrel probably helped things. Not as easy to get bent out of shape as an assault rifle.

Now that he was armed, standing, and there were no immediate threats in sight, the Courier took the opportunity to see how he had fared from the explosion and collapse of the building.

Not too badly it seemed. As the rocket hadn't hit him, nor near enough that the pressure was deadly, the damage he had sustained was from shrapnel and the fall. While his armor could almost certainly protect him from the former, he was simply lucky that he had not landed on anything sharp that was harder than he was. That sort of thing might now leave him a position to even use a stimpack. Not that it would have done him much could had he ended up impaled.

But morbid thoughts were not what he needed right now. He was still in a combat situation after all. Thinking too much about one's death at a time like this was a speedy route to it.

As he gathered his bearings, the Courier realized that he was actually outside the building itself. That made sense, given that he had been on the roof, which was slanted. The reason this had not been more evident was that the location the building had once occupied was not immediately apparent. By this he meant that the only way to tell where the building used to stand was by approximating based on the size and concentration of the piles of rubble. A large amount of it had landed near him, on the far side of the building from the rocket.

That being said, the Courier still had a job to do. He would clear the house, or whatever was left of it, and then get rid of that last group holed up on the second floor of the last building with cathartic violence.

The house, while the Courier was not sure it served that function at any point in time, the shape of the buildings fit his preconceived notion of what a house looked like and there was no evidence to the contrary so he had simply called them that, had collapsed largely inwards, though portions of the second floor and roof nearest the blast had been blown backwards and landed nearer to him. The second floor had crumpled onto the first, with the roof falling onto the second. Given the circumstances, it was entirely possible, if not downright likely, that there would be survivors. The condition of these survivors and whether they were civilians or hostiles was the question.

Climbing into the house, directly onto what was once the second floor, the Courier kept his submachine gun ready, scanning for motion. As he was not greeted by muzzle flashes, it seemed that, at the very least, the collapse had incapacitated the enemy.

The debris and fallen pieces of timber obstructed his view massively. Still, he found his first body on the right. It may have been the pressure that killed him, but the damage the shrapnel had done was more than lethal. The Courier averted his eyes from where the sharp pieces of wood and in some places snapped bone bulged from the flesh. He kept going.

He found two more, lying on the ground. One had a half-buried rocket launcher near him. Both were moving slightly, but grievously wounded. Large pieces impaled through the abdomen and small punctures all across the body. The Courier but a round in each of their heads, and spared them a slow death. More than they deserved perhaps, but his aim had never been to dispense justice.

The next and final body that he found was different than the others. The explosive collar told him all he needed to know. It was a, well boy was probably the most apt description going by the build, probably in his early to mid-teens. Given that he was farthest from the point of impact, the boy had the lightest injuries. Nevertheless, the bloodsoaked beams he lay on told the Courier that that didn't mean much.

The he had landed face down, shrapnel entirely in his pack, with a sharp piece of wood stuck in his abdomen. He was delirious and on the verge of unconsciousness, barely able to writhe and moan quietly. The Courier started by administering Med-X immediately. In addition to easing the boy's pain, it would relax him, making it far easier for the Courier to treat him.

The second the syringe had been emptied and withdrawn, the Courier set about removing all the pieces of shrapnel from the boy's back. He could not risk trying to apply a stimpak while pieces of wood were embedded in him. The healing process was capable of pushing small, regular and smooth objects like bullets out, but rougher, larger material like wood would heal badly. Lethally, badly. He needed to work quickly however, as with each piece removed, the rate at which he lost blood increased.

Finally they had all been removed, and the boy's back was stained almost totally red. The Courier readied a stimpak against him, and prepared to pull his patient off the piece of wood that he had been impaled on.

With one hand he pulled the boy up, and with the other he depressed the plunger the second he was clear. Then, he carefully laid him down. He still felt his pulse, and could see him breath. Good, with any luck, he should survive. The Courier would have to leave him here however. Med-X prevented him from doing much of anything for a while. And a house needed clearing.

When he woke up, all of this would be over. Perhaps he'd simply think he got incredibly lucky when the house collapsed.

But, as the plight of this boy illustrated, the Courier was rescuing far more than just the family of the man he had happened upon. No, this was a total liberation of this little slavers' enclave. Considering they were still in the midst of the inhospitable terrain between Zion and Vegas, that left one question. What was he going to do with them all?


	136. Chapter 136 - The Best Laid Plans

Chapter 136 - The Best Laid Plans

Well, he would deal with that later. He still had a house to clear. He needed to deal with the most immediate threats first. The fate of the slaves could be determined once the slavers had been eliminated. As long as they were roaming around, the Courier didn't have the luxury of making long term plans.

Fortunately this little ambush had at the very least helped expedite the process. While the rest of the compound would still be manned, he strongly suspected that the vast majority of the slavers' forces had been expended in their initial assaults on him and this ambush. The process of clearing this place would have been a lot slower if the main body of their forces had remained dispersed throughout the entire area.

Leaving the sedated boy lying there, he moved back to the far side of the building from the impact. While dust and debris had blocked any attempts by the enemy to ascertain the effectiveness of their desperate rocket attack, he would be in a better position with solid, or at the very least obscuring cover between him and them. Unless they were total idiots, it was unlikely they would assume he had died. If his reputation preceded him, there was no chance, and in any case, the fact that he utilized power armor gave them a very good idea of how difficult to kill he would be.

Still, while he couldn't tell exactly how long it had been since they had fired on him, the fact that they had seen nothing of him meant that they had inherently lost track of them. In all likelihood, they would focus on the destroyed building, scanning for movement and firing upon it. If that held true, they would be vulnerable to a standard assault in the manner that he had done on the first building. If not, well, a standard breach was something he was capable of even if the enemy were prepared. If was risky, and had the potential to be deadly, but with VATS he would manage.

There was a small amount of open ground between the third and fourth buildings, presumably where a street ran, though any asphalt had been long covered by sand. The Courier would need to cross this unseen to maintain the element of surprise.

He carefully checked the windows of the building. There were few he could see, and fewer that offered any view onto the area he was about to cross. Seeing the way was clear, he moved.

And he was across. Good, back into the first floor. Evidence of his previous handiwork was strew across the area, the half-decayed floorboards were saturated with blood. Carefully he approached the stairs. His head was on a swivel. Every step he took he checked the newly visible areas for assailants. The first flight up stairs faced and exterior wall, so he went up them backwards. Always face potential threats.

His caution was vindicated. While he had had the element of surprise, the short burst of fire dispatching the man lying in wait for him at the top of the stair shattered it entirely.

The man himself appeared to have been utterly unprepared for his appearance, his weapon not even close to readied.

Before the first body hit the ground, the Courier had shifted gears. Stealth being lost, speed was the priority. There was no way anyone didn't hear gunfire, albeit the quietest gunfire there could be, a this range. He needed to attack before the enemy could take advantage of the warning they had gotten.

In seconds he bursted into the room and activated VATS. A plethora of targets awaited him. Six in this room. Three were close to the windows, presumably watching for movement from the building they had hit. One of these held a launcher. They had only just started to turn to face the entrance to the room when he burst in. Good. While surprise itself had been lost, it had been lost late enough that he stilled retained its advantages by acting more quickly and more decisively than his enemy.

Caught out of cover, those three would have no chance of surviving the first volley. At this close range, the bursts would be nothing short of devastating. The initial salvo would take them out of the picture.

The other three, were more of a problem. Evidently they had been guarding the door, and while a couple of them appeared to have not been paying the most attention when he had entered the building, their weapons were nevertheless pointed in his direction. And given that he was starting at the opposite side of the room, they would have more time than they really should to react. It was too late however. There was nothing more that could be done. However, there was one thing that he did notice. One of the people pointing guns at him had an explosive collar around her neck.

He couldn't know what the slave was thinking. Whether she had been brainwashed to defend her masters loyally or if she had simply taken the chance to arm herself in the confusion, not knowing his assault was meant to free her.

But he had no choice. She was pointing a gun at him with her finger on the trigger and he was breaching a room. She needed to die. He had hesitated in a similar situation once before, and it had almost cost him his life. He pulled the trigger.

Her body hit the floor at the same time as all the others.

They all had neat little entry wounds on their foreheads that oozed blood. This stood in stark contrast to the exit wounds that poured blood.

The only small part of logic that helped his conscience was that he doubted that even in circumstances such as these slavers would have allowed a slave to possess a gun unless they were sure it wouldn't be used against them.

His ears rung from gunfire and he felt pain in his abdomen and chest. Some dull, some numb, and some sharp. Not good.

A door at the far end of the room opened and there was a rush to exit it. Seeing weapons, the Courier fired indiscriminately into the doorway, stopping when nothing moved. He was not in a condition to do anything other than that.

Moving quickly, trying to secure the area before he needed to deal with his injuries, he burst through the far door. Two slaves cowered in a corner of the small room.

While ordinarily the Courier would have said something to them, or see if they needed help, he instead promptly left, closing the door behind him.

As there seemed to be no one planning on killing him left in the building, he finally took the time to inspect the damage.

There were two new noticeable scratches in the paint around the abdomen of his armor, one of the side, the other more towards the center. These were of little concern however, especially compared to the bullet hole in its chest. Fortunately on the right side, the bullet had gone in the thinner part of the chestpiece between the upper right and lower pieces of armor. Blood started oozing from the wound.

Interestingly enough, the Courier seemed able to breath without difficulty. While his lungs were in fact modified, being ruptured by a bullet would still have been enough to disrupt his breathing, or a least make it painful.

What that told him was that the round had not made it to his lung, despite being positioned in such a way that it should have. The most likely explanation was that it had hit one of his ribs and stopped there. He was lucky. Had that bullet hit the other side of his chest and missed the rib, it could have been a lot more damaging. As it was, a stimpak fixed the damage in seconds. Some alien epoxy fixed the damaged armor. Aside from being painful, taking a bullet had hardly slowed him down. Well, that was that ambush dealt with.

Great. Now, it was time to clear what remained of the slavers, and see what had happened with Pyrrha.


	137. Chapter 137 - Exodus

Chapter 137 - Exodus

Clearing the compound was a highly tedious affair. The reason it was more tedious than dangerous was that he was finally able to use his power armor again and the resistance was sporadic and disorganized. Weapons that could damage him were few and far between, and their haphazard utilization meant that he was in hardly any danger. The spine of the slavers' resistance had been broken.

He encountered far more slaves than he had previously, either hiding in the buildings or fleeing his approach. He would have to round them all up once the place was cleared. Had this been a proper military operation, there would have been an area defended by a second team which he would direct civilians to, however this was not a military operation. This was just him slaughtering a compound full of slavers. So, management of civilians in the area of operations was not something he could do effectively. Fortunately, all the slaves had a vested interest in living, and thus had the good sense to stay away from the sound of gunfire.

It had taken a couple of hours for the Courier to finally secure the area. Ensuring that there were none hiding in the various buildings had taken a couple more. But, he didn't have any choice in the matter. He couldn't exactly do anything involving the slaves until he was sure that some die-hards wouldn't simply open fire on the group when they say an opportune moment.

Before he even did that, he would rejoin Pyrrha and the first man they had rescued. Hopefully they would both be fine. His "diversion" should have been effective enough to prevent them from noticing or reacting to the actual rescue that had been their primary purpose.

While liberating this entire camp was not the original purpose of this operation, he couldn't exactly live and let live in the case of a slaver colony. Once he had become aware of its existence, it had become a moral imperative that it be wiped out.

The Courier started to head towards where the building they had previously determined held the man's family was. While it was possible that he and Pyrrha had since left for somewhere safer, there were decent odds that they had also felt that it was safer not to move.

As he walked, he noticed slaves watching him, and often fleeing as he got near. Though, there were others that remained where they were, watching him, assuming that they were hidden. It was not at all surprising that they feared him. Even if they guessed that he was in fact the Courier, most of the information they had on him would be in the form of rumors. None would bet their lives on identifying a man in power armor correctly.

Rather than addressing them directly, he felt it would probably be best to get the rescued slave to act as an intermediary. When people knew who he was, it often became incredibly trying to get even the simplest things done. Any sort of praise, other than the most basic assurances that he had done the right thing made Markus incredibly uncomfortable. The whole hero-worship that had arisen around him virtually mortified him. He went to some fairly extreme lengths to avoid any interaction with anyone who he wasn't sure would treat him normally. The way he framed the reason for the hero-worship, in order to avoid accrediting it to his actual actions and thus himself, was to attribute it to people's desire for a savior, and they had, for this reason, created this largely fictitious figure that they had then attached to the Courier. His sincere belief was that his reputation was a result of a popular optimism and desire for there to be figures to idolize.

And well, he was okay with that. In fact he thought it was much better than the alternative and while he himself took none of the credit, he did nothing to dispel the idea of the Courier being some messianic being. Hopefully it might restore some faith and encourage hope in humanity.

"The Courier" had become a separate entity to himself as much as it was also a part of his identity. The legend of the Courier served to showcase the best parts of humanity, even if much of what the general public knew about him was fictitious.

Further reason to limit his interactions with groups of people was that the better people knew him, the weaker the legend.

He wasn't exactly the picture of a gallant hero in terms of actions. This even showed in the popular consciousness with the Courier being portrayed more as a force than a hero.

His youth was also something that was important to conceal. Seventeen was still too young to be taken seriously by many people, and the Courier often didn't have the time to build credibility. It was one of the reasons he often spoke laconically. His voice was deep enough that speaking little made it quite difficult to at all guess at his age.

Thus there were two groups of people. Those that knew who he was, and those that didn't. While there were subgroups within these groups, these were the important ones. The former knew the Courier as a person, the latter thought of him as a legend.

But, for more present concerns, he entered the building that Pyrrha and the rescued slave were supposed to have assaulted.

The second he did, two guns were briefly pointed at him before they were lowered. Seeing that that both Pyrrha, the man he had rescued, and what he assumed was the man's family were present, and no one else, the Courier switched back to his Elite Riot Gear. Despite the appearance of the helmet, what with the gas mask and all, it was still substantially less intimidating than the power armor was.

A glance at the condition of both what he presumed was the man's wife and daughter, the latter of which was in her early teens was enough to fill the Courier with a familiar futile rage and hatred for worst of humanity. He had however, become accustomed to this feeling and had gotten very good at suppressing any reaction from it.

He looked at the man he had rescued. He looked about the same as the Courier felt. Markus handed him a pair of Stimpaks. Nothing needed to be said, the man understood what to do.

But the Courier nevertheless had more for him to do.

"Round up the slaves, and give these Stimpaks to whoever needs them. Tell them who I am and that I'll be there in a moment to start getting those collars off."

Once the man had left, taking his family with him, the Courier was left alone with Pyrrha for the first time in a while.

"What are we going to do with them?" asked Pyrrha.

"The plan stays the same. We're still going to Vegas, they're just coming with us."

 **AN:** If anyone's interested in my opinion of Season 4, and how the information revealed in it will impact the plot of this story, head over to the forum.


	138. Chapter 138 - Innocence Destroyed

Chapter 138 - Innocence Destroyed

* * *

Markus knew that Pyrrha had witnessed here was something that would no doubt scar her as much as anything else. The sort of abuses she saw evidence of on men, women, and especially children were something that stayed with you. Even with the violence and death she had been witness to and simply aware of, this degree of sadism and gratuitous cruelty was more than enough to drag a person's worldview down.

What she had seen, the people she had seen, were a testament to the very worst of humanity, and a very human one. The fact that the victims of these horrors were still alive made it worse, not better. A corpse was in the end, by definition, an inanimate object. While death was a terrible fate, at the very least, one could say the dead's suffering was over. For the survivors, the pain continued, and would continue, often for the rest of their lives. Primarily however, a corpse did not portray the same suffering that the living did. Looking at the face of a child whose spirit had been broken and innocence destroyed was something even more unsettling than seeing a body riddled with bullets.

"I need to go take off their collars. It'll take a while. You can come with me and wait there, or wait here," said the Courier breaching the brief silence that had reigned while Pyrrha stared off into space, not meeting his eyes.

"You go on ahead, I'll wait here."

Her voice sounded strange, a bit distant. The Courier looked at her with concern. Of course, she couldn't tell that, on account of his armor.

"Pyrrha, if there's anything you need, any problems you're having, I can help you, you just need to ask okay?"

That was a lie. There were some things he could not help. But, nevertheless, the main point of it was to convince Pyrrha to open up to him about the specifics of her problems. The issues she was confronted with were dangerous, and left to fester, could be deadly. He hoped that iterating his unconditional support for her in this regard would make her more willing to be helped.

But she merely nodded.

The Courier slowly left. Understanding the current feelings and motivations of someone was something the Courier could do, and was reasonably good at. Knowing the specifics was essentially mindreading. He could not help Pyrrha until he knew what specifically she was dealing with or she asked for help. He sighed. At times he wished he was a sociopath. Then at the very least, he wouldn't have to deal with the pain inherent in empathy.

* * *

The murmuring of the slaves now congregated increased drastically in intensity as the Courier walked into sight. The Elite Riot Gear was more emblematic of the Courier than the white power armor was. While it was associated with the image of the Courier, the power armor was more heavily emphasized in the character of the Lone Wanderer in D.C.

It would not have been entirely accurate to say that Markus had the same reputation in D.C. in the context of the Lone Wanderer as he did in the Mojave. The truth was that largely due to being smaller, the figure of the Lone Wanderer was much more tangible and less of a legend. Three-dog's broadcasts also made certain there were no doubts regarding his existence. Most people knew someone who had seen or met him and "that kid from Vault-101" was substantially less supernatural and intimidating in reputation than the vague details regarding the Courier that were known by the much larger populace that surrounded Vegas.

This all led to something of tangible aura of something between awe and fear at his appearance. The man that had led them to this place walked up to the Courier, his rescued family visible, but remained back with the main group.

"Anyone need medical attention?" the Courier asked, quietly but not remarkably so.

"No, not physically at least."

The Courier knew what he meant. He glanced at the few children that were here. A lot of damage had been done that a Stimpak couldn't fix.

"Tell them to get in some sort of order so I can disarm their collars."

The man didn't question why he was being asked to act as an intermediary but instead nodded and hastened to his task.

With much murmuring, the mass of slaves coalesced into a rough line, with some standing, some sitting. It didn't really matter to the Courier. He just needed them to be vaguely positioned in a way he could systematically ensure everyone's collar was disarmed and removed as quickly as possible. It was best not to stay here any longer than was absolutely necessary.

The moment he saw that the line met his low standards, he wordlessly walked up to the front, and set to work, doing his best to appear as friendly and non-threatening as one could in his apparel. He wasn't that bad at it. Hearts and minds and all that. It was more than his good deeds and simple willingness to help that gave him such a reputation.

* * *

The sun had nearly set by the time the last of the collars had been removed. Almost every single one of the slaves had a noticeable mark where the collar had been affixed. The skin was reddish and paler than the surrounding area. The Courier knew first hand how uncomfortable those collars were. Just the thought of wearing one brought back some very unpleasant memories, memories he would rather leave buried.

"What now?" asked the man he conscripted to act as his go-between.

"Rest for the night and gather supplies. Tomorrow we set out for Vegas. The Followers of the Apocalypse have a significant presence there and should be equipped to help you all out."

The man nodded.

"By the way, I wanted to thank you…"

The Courier waved him off.

"No need, I couldn't have slept knowing this place was operating."

The man nodded once again and walked off to rejoin his family and repeat the Courier's words to the rest of the slaves.

The Courier, for his part, turned his back to the setting sun and began to walk back to the building where he had left Pyrrha. He had to inform her of the plan and see if he could help her get to a healthier, or at least more stable, mental state. The fact was that the two were not necessarily related. He was a living example of this. While he was mentally stable, he freely admitted that way of dealing with his issues was far from healthy. Just sort of ignoring them and continuing on regardless was an effective doctrine for keeping him functioning, but this sort of repression was not healthy, and he knew it. Though, at this point he had gone so far down the rabbit hole that it was nothing less than lethally dangerous to try and extricate himself.

That was something that he was very keen to avoid happening to Pyrrha. He knew the consequences of doing things the way he had, and now he had the opportunity to avert the same thing, or something worse, happening to Pyrrha. He demanded it of himself that he do better for others than he had done for himself. Of course, the lingering question was: how?


	139. Chapter 139 - Catch-22

Chapter 139 - Catch-22

If there was one good thing that had come out of this for Pyrrha, it was that she was no longer obsessing over the fact that she had killed someone. That was scant comfort however, and as she sat in the silence of an empty building with tears running down her face, it was rather hard for her to play the optimist. There were new images that were burned into her mind, one that were somehow even worse than all she had seen, and much she had imagined. A violated child was more horrific and scarring to her than even the goriest of deaths she had witnessed. The simply broken parents, even in the moment of rescue and reunion hammered in the point that this damage was devastating and permanent.

There had been a time where she viewed murder as the worst thing a person could do. Not out of any specific emphasis against killing, but rather purely out of naivete that caused her to never even consider any of the worse crimes. Those were things she never thought about, much less thought she would encounter. It brought her view a lot closer to Markus' on the issue of killing. She knew he had killed everyone remotely responsible for this and it felt _good_.  
Of course it scared her that it felt good, but this time, that wasn't enough to deter her. She hated them so much that she didn't care that she considered killing wrong. These were people that simply didn't deserve to exist. She still doubted her ability to kill people, but in their case, she hoped she was able to.

This also had the effect of Pyrrha realizing that the Legion were not any different from the slavers that had run this compound. From what Markus had told her, they did exactly the same kind of things. Enslaved people, tortured people, raped people…

It was, like many of the terrible realities Pyrrha had been forced to confront, both depressing and infuriating. It was final evidence of what humanity would do to itself when civilization collapsed. Proof that humans were cruel animals that would turn on one another and commit terrible acts for the sake of perverse pleasure.

She heard footsteps. She knew it was Markus. His footsteps were always abnormally quiet for someone of his stature.

She hastily wiped away her tears. Pyrrha didn't know why she didn't want to talk to Markus about...well about any of her issues. She had no idea why she was reluctant to talk. It wasn't that she had lost trust in him, or felt that he couldn't help. Pyrrha trusted her partner as much as ever, and knew she didn't have enough of an idea of his capabilities to say that he couldn't help.

And she knew that she needed help. But for the life of her, she couldn't tell why she went to every effort to conceal this from Markus, albeit somewhat unsuccessfully, and why she didn't want to ask for help. Why she told him everything was fine when he asked, and while she gave no indication other than her voice that something was wrong. She hardly reacted to anything he said to her. She could tell from his body language that he knew something was wrong. She could also tell that he wanted her to know that he knew something was wrong. But he never pressed the issue. When she was finally left on her own, she wished he had. Evidently she was unwilling to act in her own interests and was reduced to simply hoping someone else would help her.

It was only once she lay down to sleep in the eerie silence of a place that had been the site of a large battle mere hours ago and had stood as a silent witness to told and untold suffering unimaginable, that Pyrrha was finally able to understand herself. She finally understood the reason that she could not ask for help.

It was in the end, simple stubborn pride. On a more than conscious level, Pyrrha simply did not want to admit her inability to deal with the circumstances she was in. Because, in her mind, that would be to admit an ultimate defeat. To have met the challenge and fled in the face of it. Fundamentally, her entire personality and character rebelled against it.

She was a fighter, and a champion; she wanted to be a hero. The entire experience she had had here, in this new place was humiliating enough. It had suddenly become very clear that her aspirations, seemingly so close to being realized, were nothing more than childish delusions. All her plans, morals and intentions were tested and found massively insufficient. She was approached by challenges she had never considered, and ended up in a situation where she questioned her very identity.

This was all a very dramatic way of saying that she was very lost, and hated it. This was all largely because she had very high standards for herself. The reason for this was mainly because of her abilities. Beyond just the power inherent in her Semblance, Pyrrha was a Huntress in training, and a highly skilled fighter. Because of that, she had felt that she had a duty to use her abilities to help people. She demanded of herself that she be among the best of the best. Now, she was not even really competent. If she got separated from Markus, she was as good as dead.

She had never considered ending up in a situation where she was this lost and this in need of help. She was supposed to be _active_ , helping people, not praying not to die and dreading what the next day would bring. She had always demanded of herself to excel. Instead, she was, fundamentally, helpless. And that was her problem. This compounded her problems further, with her despising her own inability, her own personal pride in self-sufficiency hamstrung any attempts to rectify, or at least improve, the situation.

Ever since she had arrived here, she had just followed Markus, doing whatever he said literally because her life depended on it. She lacked any agency because not only did not she not understand this new world but she didn't understand her own perspective on it. Her pride was the last thing she had left, now that ability and morality had forsaken her. The idea that she was capable and could act in the interest of her values and goals was the last thing that she possessed that could keep her grounded to her identity. And it was the thing that was stopping her from regaining the two more important things she had lost.

Now, she was caught in a ridiculous, convoluted paradox of self-inflicted suffering.

With that comforting thought, she finally managed to fall asleep.


	140. Chapter 140 - The Long 15

Chapter 140 - The Long 15

It took well into the morning to organize all of the rescued slaves for travel. While the Courier was keen to get going as soon as possible, he had known that moving a group this size would take some preparation. He had taken advantage of the time by arranging the group for travel, ensuring that those who had scavenged arms would be positioned around the perimeter. He was severely concerned about the dangers of such a large group traversing the wasteland. While like all wastelanders, they no doubt had some experience in defending themselves, primarily, they were still a group of civilians. And a large one at that.

Despite the fact that a few of the former slaves had departed, having lived near enough that going to Vegas would have been counter-intuitive, the vast majority still remained. They were a group far too large to move as quickly as a smaller group, and not large or well equipped enough to be entirely capable of defending themselves. This provided a highly dangerous situation in which should bullets start flying, a lot of people were going to get hit simply due to the density of the group. While the Courier would do his best to prevent them from clumping up too badly, the fact was that they couldn't be dispersed across a large area either. That presented its own dangers, such as increasing the chances of encountering hostiles and limiting the speed at which they could move. High dispersion might have worked if this were a trained company, but this was a far cry from that. This was trying to herd a crowd of civilians through the wastes until he could hand them off to someone actually capable of dealing with them.

His track record with attempting to escort Pyrrha through the wastes made him downright pessimistic about their chances. At the very least, they were relatively close to NCR territory, so things shouldn't be that bad. Then again, this slaver compound was a testament to how little that meant. With how badly the NCR's borders were secured their territory was still highly dangerous, being just outside the borders meant you were on your own. The NCR were more interested in expanding than consolidating. Securing land was less visually impressive than territorial additions were.

Having delegated the task of getting everyone ready to move to Derek, as he had found out the man's name was, he went to get Pyrrha. Despite the new task of getting these people to safety, the Courier still felt his primary task was ensuring her safety. It didn't really make much sense, but he felt that since she didn't belong here the suffering she underwent had an extra magnitude of injustice. Or perhaps he was simply biased because he knew her personally.

In any case, when he went to find her he noticed immediately that she didn't look good. It was eminently clear that her sleep had been anything but restful. He was not entirely surprised to find this, but this deterioration of her condition was something that was the cause for mounting concern. Particularly troubling was her relatively new trend of refusing to talk to him about her problems. Previously, she had been very open about her reactions to what she had witnessed and experienced. Now, he saw her closing herself off more, brushing off any of his attempts to reach out to her regarding this.

It worried him. Partly because a voice of self-doubt wondered whether it was his fault. His rational side said that he had not made any changes in his behavior radical enough to cause dramatic change like this in Pyrrha. Of course, his doubts, being normally highly erratic and irrational, refused to be quelled. Nevertheless, he was able to come to the conclusion that Pyrrha's change in doctrine was a result of something other than himself, and the change was a result of some decision she had made.

Physically, she seemed fine however. She hardly spoke even as the entire group began to start its long march towards Vegas. Her proximity to him, and her odd mix of attire, attracted a certain amount of attention from the freed slaves. While it was no doubt helpful to the image of the Courier and equally thematically appropriate to his mythos, the real reason he was at the head of the "column" was simply that being on point gave him the best opportunity to spot trouble before it spotted them.

His plan was to prioritize speed over attempting to avoid locations most likely for there to be conflict. Not only did he not have time to waste, but the less time this took, the less things could go wrong. While he was reasonably confident in his ability to handle a crisis, a series of them was substantially more difficult and more risky. Taking the most direct route to Vegas would take them along the Long 15. That was the first landmark they would reach.

By the end of the first day, they had in fact reached the Long 15. That was good. At the very least there was visible progress to keep the morale high. He considered having them move aways away to encamp for the night to prevent them from being observed by anyone traveling the Long 15, however he determined that that sort of thing was not practical to attempt with civilians when he was prioritizing speed.

Pyrrha went to bed wordlessly. She had hardly said a dozen words over the course of the day. He wouldn't sleep, he still needed to find anything in their area before it found them. He leaned on a rusted piece of metal barrier that lined the road as he switched the helmet of his riot gear to night vision.

He could tell just visually that Pyrrha was not sleeping restfully. It was painfully apparent even when he was attempting to look at the horizon in all directions. Her problems needed to be resolved before they did some kind of permanent damage. Well, any _more_ permanent damage. Markus was not optimistic enough to say that she could escape from this without trauma and memories that would haunt her for the rest of her life.

To a degree, it was his fault for getting involved in, well anything to do with Remnant, but especially to do with Pyrrha and all the kids at Beacon. However, he had to remind himself that it was never his intention for Pyrrha, or anyone else for that matter, to end up here, and the alternative for Pyrrha being here was her being dead.

His session of reflection on his culpability for Pyrrha's condition was interrupted by him actually seeing something. Something he really should have seen before.

Far on the horizon, to the South, several indistinct shapes hovered.

There was no doubt to as to what they were.

Cazadores.

Now, Cazadores meant two things. One, they meant fucking Cazadores. And two, their presence was indicative of death. Great, just what they needed. Well, as self appointed person-in-charge-of-keeping-all-these-people-alive, the Courier resigned himself to having to investigate and deal with those oversized corpse flies. Why couldn't anything ever be easy?


	141. Chapter 141 - Reconnaissance in Force

Chapter 141 - Reconnaissance in Force

The Courier engaged the Cazadores from a nearby rise with his sniper rifle. The silenced weapon dropped the flying creatures quickly. Even the small amount of detail that could be made out at this distance, through night-vision optics, and scope was enough to remind him of the disgusting abominations that were cazadores. In all honesty he much preferred dealing with them from ranges as extreme as was practical.

The Courier had gone to the effort of moving sufficiently far away enough from the group that his gunfire, suppressed and subsonic as it was, would not be noticeable. As he could attest, gunfire was not the best way to wake up. Nevertheless, he was wary not to stray too far from where they had encamped. A large group of civilians on a major thoroughfare was a highly vulnerable target.

That was only one of the reasons that the Courier investigating the Cazadores, but it was the only one he would admit to. The other reason was, quite simply, an arguably unhealthy sense of curiosity. Of course, it was quite likely that this was nothing interesting but that had never stopped him before. In any case, regardless of other motivations, prudence dictated he ensure the way ahead of the group was clear.

Cazadores generally indicated something was dead, and odds were that it was people. The Cazadores, other than being abominations, were in the end not terribly dangerous. While a swarm of them would be a deadly threat to the average wastelander, there were enough weapons in the group, and he presumed they were decent enough shots that the Cazadores wouldn't be much of a threat.

The danger came from what, or who, caused the deaths that attracted them. While there were always some who walked I-15 that were vulnerable, most who did so knew the risks and prepared accordingly. More often than not however, this still proved not enough to save them. A proper cleansing and securing of the area was needed for travel along I-15 to be truly safe.

What this all meant was that something had been around that was likely highly dangerous to travelers. The question of what it was, and whether it was still present, was what the Courier had to accomplish before they could keep going.

With the last of the Cazadores falling unceremoniously to the ground, the Courier stood, and began to walk towards the site at which they had been congregated. He held his weapon in a fairly relaxed position, not anticipating any further resistance. The large areas of nearly flat terrain that continued to the mountains meant that it was highly unlikely anything was in the area that he didn't know about.

Night vision also gave him a very clear advantage. Hardly anyone, especially anyone in the business of raiding I-15, possessed night vision capabilities. Animals on the other hand, often were able to see in the dark, but were less likely to be able to hide or set up an ambush. The Courier had enough advantages in his favor that he could act with reasonable confidence that should hostile elements be present, he would see them before they saw him.

As he approached the site the Cazadores had been congregated around, he could see some dead bloatflies lying on the ground, decomposing, as well as other, more humanoid shapes with more conventional flies buzzing around. Arriving at the corpses, it was quickly apparent that the victims had been a caravan, traveling along the road.

While the bodies were in poor enough condition that the Courier was glad to be wearing his riot armor, they remained intact enough that it was immediately obvious that the Cazadores had not been the cause of death.

The bodies, decomposed as they were, had very clearly not been killed by the sting of Cazadores. Instead, great rents were visible on each of the bodies. That indicated that someone or something had savagely hacked and cut them almost to were no signs of bullet wounds, however the decomposition made it difficult to tell.

As far as the Courier knew, there were three likely options. There were of course more _possible_ options, but only three likely ones. It was either remnants of the Fiends, the Legion, or a Deathclaw.

While the bodies were not easily identifiable, as far as the Courier could tell, none of them looked like anything like a member of the Fiends or the Legion. Thus if either of them were behind this, they would have had to have accomplished this without taking any casualties. While the Courier didn't doubt that there were elements of the Legion that could accomplish this without losing a man, each of the members of the caravan appeared to have been armed. Neither the Legion nor the Fiends were known for being particularly conservative with their manpower, considering the rank and file largely expendable.

There was also the fact that as far as the Courier knew, neither group operated in this area. The Long 15 was regularly patrolled by the NCR, and the Legion had been pushed a good ways East from here so that incursions this far into NCR territory would not be undertaken lightly or with the goal something as trivial as raiding caravans. The Fiends, for their part, were, last the Courier had heard, almost completely wiped out. The reason he suspected the Fiends, as opposed to any random raiders, was the grievousness of the wounds. They had either been created by someone well trained and experienced at cleaving people from shoulder to sternum, or someone who was on enough stimulants to do so regardless.

Of course, there was the other, far more likely option, but by far the least attractive one.

This was, in all likelihood, the work of a Deathclaw or, knowing his luck, multiple Deathclaws. Now, he needed to find it, or them. Ironically, the worst case scenario would be that the Deathclaw(s) had simply slaughtered this caravan and kept moving, and was by now dozens of miles from here. The reason for this was that quite simply he had know way of knowing that to be true were that the case. If he found a Deathclaw in a cave and killed it, he would know that the threat had been dealt with. On the other hand, if he _didn't_ find a Deathclaw, he couldn't know whether or not the Deathclaw was long gone or lurking someone that he hadn't found.

A large part of the problem was that these bodies were not fresh by any standard. Even had they been magnitudes more recent than they were, the terrain concealed the tracks of even a genetically engineered killer lizard within hours. He would literally have to make a guess and hope that he found something that would point him in the right direction. Well, whether it was humans or Deathclaws, the best place to start would be the nearest feature of prominence. Which would be the hill to his left that prevented observation more than a few hundred meters in that direction. Well, it was time to go hunting. Here's hoping it wouldn't take all night.


	142. Chapter 142 - The Pack

Chapter 142 - The Pack

The closer the Courier got to the jagged silhouette of the hills in front of him, the more paranoid he got. The unfortunate cost of night vision was a loss of clarity and color. While the latter was already largely absent, it nevertheless made it even more difficult to spot slight variations that might tell him where a Deathclaw would be.

The Courier had switched to his Gauss rifle, the YCS/186, virtually as soon as he had determined there was any likelihood of encountering a deathclaw. Of course a Gauss rifle was a weapon loud enough to rattle the teeth of anyone in what could be very loosely described as the surrounding area. With Deathclaws being present, not making noise had shifted in his list of priorities to a distant last. Deathclaws were a serious threat, even to him. While he had the firepower needed to negate their biological armor, they were still unsettlingly clever and possessed claws backed with enough punch to threaten power armor. While it was not enough to outright pierce it, combined with the force behind it, Deathclaws were a threat even to the Brotherhood.

Speaking of the Brotherhood, they were supposed to be patrolling I-15. Evidently even with their help the NCR were incapable of maintaining its security. _And_ that was with the threat of the Legion gone. Their troops had nothing else to be doing.

Well, he supposed it was better that neither the Brotherhood nor NCR had stumbled across this particular threat. It would have almost certainly ended with more people dead, even if the Deathclaws were dealt with.

The cliffs of the hills began to loom above him, and the Courier got still more paranoid, pivoting to any sign of movement. Every rock or cactus looked like a Deathclaw. It didn't help that his depth perception was worsened by the night vision. Facing the short but jagged rise in front of him, the Courier knew that there were good odds that the Deathclaws had set up in the area. They liked nesting in dark places. If there was some sort of cave or recess sufficiently deep, he had little doubt he'd find them there.

As Deathclaws didn't go out of their way to attack people, it stood to reason that the reason for the attack was simple territorialism. The Deathclaws felt that the caravan had been infringing on its territory. If the Deathclaws considered that stretch of I-15 to be their territory, then they must have been nearby on a permanent enough basis to feel the need to defend their territory.

He also knew that unless he was unreasonably lucky, there would be multiple Deathclaws. The things lived in packs, meaning that barring extraordinary circumstances, they were never alone.

The Courier was not exactly thrilled when he finally spotted a deep cave going into the hills, just as he had predicted. Deathclaws were far too serious a matter for him to feel anything until they were dead. Ironically, it was not often that the Courier faced death. At least, not recently. The combination of armor, Stimpaks, and genetic and cybernetic augmentation meant that his odds of dying in the average firefight were low enough that he felt comfortable taking far greater risks than anyone else would. He had been shot enough times to know his durability. But Deathclaws, well Deathclaws had a real potential to actually kill him. If they managed to hit him, well it was unlikely he would get the opportunity to kill the thing and fix himself before it finished him off. The things were genetically designed to be as horrible as possible. Literally engineered to be the most deadly creatures in existence. And he was planning on walking into a den full of them.

Part of the problem was the inefficiency of power armor against them. While it provided protection and enhanced melee capabilities, power armor also restricted visibility, making it a less than ideal choice for close combat against something you couldn't afford to take hits from. When fighting Deathclaws, a whole lot rode on not getting hit in the first place.

The entrance showed signs that nine foot tall lizards had been coming and going. Cautiously the Courier peered into the depths that otherwise would have been pitch black. He saw the back wall of a cave. He moved his head slightly, and discovered that the passage simply turned a little ways in. The ceiling was relatively low for things that were nine feet tall.

He entered with an indescribable level of caution moving painfully slowly with his Gauss rifle ever at the ready, waiting for the barest sign of movement. He crept through the corridor of the cave, following it as it turned to the left and went down at an almost imperceptible angle.

Then, he heard it. An unmistakable scraping sound. Painful on the ears, but instantly recognizable. The sound of a Deathclaw's claws being sharpened. Suddenly, the Courier saw the end of the narrow passage he was in.

He saw a distant wall, but little else, it appeared the ground simply ended. However as he crept closer, he could see that the are opened up into a large cavern with a path towards the bottom from where he was. And it was filled with Deathclaws. While the cavern wasn't exactly expansive, it was practically packed with Deathclaws.

For the first time in months, the Courier saw their glassy, nearly sightless eyes. Reflexively he felt the urge to simply open fire. But, given how many of them there were, and the low rate of fire of a Gauss rifle, he didn't like his odds. This was genuinely more Deathclaws than he had ever seen in one place before. Now, he needed a plan. Clearly conventional means wouldn't do.

To the Courier, the solution was obvious. Indeed, it was one he had attempted rather recently, though it seemed like a lifetime ago.

During the initiation into Beacon, he and Pyrrha had encountered a Deathstalker in a cave. He had attempted to seal it in with dynamite. The Courier would now attempt the same thing, though this time hopefully with better results. The reason it had failed in the previous instance had been the size of the Deathstalker and the limited collapse of the cave. Here, he could start the detonation much deeper, and Deathclaws didn't have the ability to move vast amounts of stone despite their considerable strength. And he would overdo it on the explosives front. With something as dangerous as this many Deathclaws, he was not keen to take chances.

That said, using this indirect method of extermination was, in the end, a risk. He was going to leave this many Deathclaws trapped in the cave, and hope they starved to death. The simple fact that he didn't confirm the kills left potential for things to go wrong. But, there were no better options. Manual extermination was out of the question. Not only was it needlessly risky, but it would also take a while to be done properly.

His course of action being determined, the Courier set up some of the long wicked dynamite at regular intervals in the cave, often wedging them into places that would do the most damage. Then, he lit them, and with supreme self control walked at an agonizingly slow pace away from the lit explosives until he judged himself to be far enough away that he could run without the Deathclaws detecting him. He found a rock that he could take cover behind a good ways from the cave's entrance. He sat with his back to it, and waited for the detonation.


	143. Chapter 143 - Tunnel Vision

Chapter 143 - Tunnel Vision

The first explosion rent the previously quiet night with the typical violent boom that accompanied a detonation. The way the explosives has been planted and lit meant that they would explode in the order on innermost to the outermost. The successive detonations shook the ground. The collapsing earth and stone gave the impression of a dull roar, akin to the sound of a train. Then, very quickly, it was over. A trickling of falling rocks continued for a bit until the last of them came to a rest.

The Courier cautiously left cover, pointing his Gauss rifle into the cloud of reddish-brown dust that obscured where the entrance once was. His night-vision provided him with no aid in seeing how effective his efforts had been. He switched to electromagnetic vision. The signatures of the Deathclaws remained faint. That was a good sign, but it did not definitively tell him whether or not his efforts to entomb the Deathclaws had been successful.

He switched back to night-vision and waited, Gauss rifle at the ready, for the dust to settle.

It appeared that luck was on the Courier's side, well as much luck could be on his side considering that he had just so happened to stumble across a cave full of Deathclaws, as the entrance to cave did appear to be sealed off. The general collapse of the exit to the cave appeared to have moved enough earth, and the charges appeared to have been planted deep enough, that almost the entire roof of the tunnel had collapsed, leaving the Deathclaws well and truly trapped in their den. That left only one problem left to deal with.

It would have been naive to assume that all the Deathclaws were in the den at the time of the detonations. With the number that were inside, there were almost certainly others that were roaming the area for various reasons. And they would need to be dealt with before this area could safely be traversed.

Fortunately, the Courier wouldn't have to do much searching. The fact that Deathclaws were highly territorial combined with the fact that a massive explosion had just gone off at their home meant that they would all be heading this way post-haste. Now, all there was to was to take up a position and wait.

The Courier had chosen to set up on the highest ground that gave him an unobstructed view to the interstate. While ordinarily he would have taken up a prone position when sniping, especially with something as recoil-heavy as a Gauss rifle, in this circumstance the limitations this put on his field of view were unacceptable. As the Deathclaws could come from any direction, he needed to be in a position to scan three-hundred sixty degrees. He would not allow a Deathclaw near him unless there was no other option. As it was, visibility was good enough that little chance of that. Even with the natural camouflage of the Deathclaws, and the disadvantage brought by the night-vision, the Courier had no doubt that he would spot them long before they reached him. The only question was how many he would have to deal with.  
In all likelihood, it would not be that many. Deathclaws were not known for wandering often, and while they did, it was unlikely there would be dozens of the things out and about.

In any case, the Courier possessed numerous advantages that made him more confident than he usually was when dealing with Deathclaws. They didn't know where he was, or that he was present at all. They would come mostly one at a time, and there was sparse cover out here. Most important of all, his Gauss rifle was effectively a one-shot-one-kill. While Deathclaws were naturally hardy creatures designed to be resistant to firearms, the sheer power behind a Gauss rifle meant that they had no chance. Even if the initial impact did not kill them immediately, the kind of wounds it inflicted were not survivable, not even for a Deathclaw. The Courier was in what was essentially the ideal situation to be engaging Deathclaws. Now, all that was left was to wait.

The waiting, as always, was agonizing. The Courier had gotten used to it, mainly because he had to. While in this instance he was not in terrible danger, there were numerous occasions in which his choices had been between patience and death. Thus, no matter how painful it was to keep scanning the horizon, before shifting to scan the other direction, constantly expecting to see a threat was, he kept doing it.

The cliché regarding waiting was true. The anticipation and uncertainty was far worse than the actual thing. Generally speaking, the reason for this was that in an actual life or death scenario adrenaline did a lot to help one cope with the stress and fear whereas there was no adrenaline in waiting, thus the lead up to the action was far more painful than the actual brief moments of combat.

Except when it wasn't.

While typically it was true that the mind could conjure up more terrifying scenarios and outcomes than were realistic, there were always certain times that reality outdid the worst depths of the imagination. The Courier always prayed it wasn't one of those times. Indeed, the existence of those times made the uncertainty even worse. Not only did he agonize over the worst possible scenarios he could come up with, but there was always a small voice in his mind telling him " _it could be even worse than that, you know_." Nevertheless, he endured it, as he always did.

The waiting ended after only about twenty minutes of scanning. He had seen the Deathclaw because unlike virtually all other moving objects, it had continued in the same direction, not shifting with the wind. It seemed to be making no effort at concealment, though occasionally it was obscured from his line of sight be dips in the terrain. At this point, it was only barely visible. The Courier tracked it through the scope of his Gauss rifle. He waited. He could afford to. He would only fire when it was at close enough range that he could ensure a hit and external factors would not affect the shot more than necessary. There was no need to make the shot any more difficult than it needed to be. His primary aim was a simple, easy to confirm kill.

At five hundred meters, the Courier took the shot. Aimed directly at the center of mass, the Deathclaw never had a chance. The kinetic energy possessed by the projectile crushed the unusually hard ribs of the creature into its chest cavity, ravaging many of its vital organs as the round tore clean through. While the round itself tore through cleanly, what it left behind was anything but. The damage to the Deathclaw was catastrophic. There was nothing the Courier knew of that could survive a hole that size through the torso. Shredded organs were barely visible through the incredible amount of blood that poured from the beast. Yet, it still lived. The Courier was not at all surprised. It took quite a lot to kill a person instantly and even more to kill a Deathclaw. Not that this wound wasn't fatal, but fatal didn't mean it was instantly lethal. On most targets, the Courier would have fired again to shorten its life. However it was rather excessive with a Gauss rifle.

Just as he went to replace microfusion cells in his Gauss rifle he heard something behind him.


	144. Chapter 144 - Excessive

Chapter 144 - Excessive

The Courier fired. Once again at the center of mass of the Deathclaw. The shot impacted with unsurprisingly similar effect. Despite the best efforts of the Deathclaw, he had managed to detect it before it had gotten into striking distance. Nevertheless, it was close enough that his armor had been spattered by blood from the impact. As the Deathclaw lay there, thrashing and writhing the Courier loaded and fired a second time, obliterating its head. His armor was covered in even more blood.

After reloading, the Courier set about his next task, one that superseded his previous objective of sniping the Deathclaws as they came to him.

The appearance of the Deathclaw left him with a question that needed answering. Where had it come from? The Courier was confident enough in his own abilities to say that the Deathclaw had not simply come from that direction unnoticed. There was too much open ground and he was observant enough that that was not worth considering.

That left him with a very limited range of possibilities. The simplest explanation would be that the Deathclaw happened to be lurking nearby. The problems with this theory were that if that were the case it would have found him earlier and the fact that it would have headed to the site of the blast rather than his position. That left one other possibility, and a rather unattractive one at that.

At this point, the most likely explanation was that the Deathclaw had found another exit to the cave. From what the Courier knew, it was likely this exit had been created when the other had been collapsed. The fact that the Deathclaws had not come swarming out the other entrance to investigate the collapse of the first indicated that this Deathclaw had escaped by chance. However this meant that he needed to find and collapse the new exit before the Deathclaws found it and decided to come flooding out of it looking for vengeance.

He supposed he was rather lucky that this lone Deathclaw had gone and wandered out the exit. Not only did it alert him to the existence of another way in and out, but it also gave him an indication of the direction it lay in. Therefore the Courier set off at a brisk pace in the direction the Deathclaw had come from, keeping an eye out for where an entrance to the cave might be. The Courier walked down the far slope of the hill from the I-15, looking for areas that had been shifted dramatically by the explosion. Areas with large amounts of loose stone and soil were evidence that the landscape had been changed by the detonation. There were quite a few of them. The amount of explosives used was certainly excessive, especially with the benefit of hindsight, and a lot more earth than necessary appeared to have been moved.

The Courier was prepared for the tedious task of searching the craggy hill for wherever the exit might have opened. But, as it turned out, that was entirely unnecessary. Instead, a much simpler and much worse task proved to be necessary. A much more deadly task.

There were Deathclaws. Four of them visible at this point, and something that looked very much like a hole that led to the cave.

The Courier was positioned somewhat awkwardly on a slope, laterally about a dozen meters from the Deathclaws.

It was at this point the Courier switched to power armor. Dealing with multiple Deathclaws in open combat at this range made any disadvantages inherent to power armor negligible in comparison to simply benefit of being able to survive being struck. Seeing as subtlety was not remotely an option, the Courier had to resort to going as hard as possible and as fast as possible.

As the Deathclaws began their frenzied charge at him, the Courier did his best to remain calm and steadily fire at the onrushing creatures. He managed to make two shots before they got too close for him to use the Gauss rifle. Instantly he switched from the rifle to a Desert Eagle in one hand and a ballistic fist in the other. Time to take some risks. This was not going to be pretty.

With two Deathclaws remaining standing, the Courier fired at the center of mass of the first one before leaping backwards to avoid a swipe. While the round had penetrated, a fact proven by the oozing of blood from the wound, it was nowhere near as devastating as a shot from a Gauss rifle was. The Courier did however seize the opportunity afforded by the overextension of the Deathclaw from the missed swipe to move in and deliver an uppercut to the chin of the creature. The triple barrels delivered their payload to devastating effect. The shear concussive force of the blow was crippling, while the damage dealt by the shells was catastrophic. While it took a lot to take down a Deathclaw, a punch from a power armor augmented ballistic fist combined with three shotgun blasts to the chin qualified as "a lot."

The next Deathclaw received the rest of the magazine from the Desert Eagle as quickly as the Courier could empty it.

Bleeding from a multitude of bullet wounds, the Courier left the Deathclaw where it lay, reloading and running to the entrance. Even as he did so, he saw more Deathclaws start to attempt to leave the darkness of the cave.

He fired a hail of bullets into the mass, not stopping. Inaccurate and unspecific fire into the mass was highly unlikely to kill any of the Deathclaws but that was not the point. The newly revealed entrance was relatively small and it took some effort for Deathclaws to leave it. Thus the Courier intended that wounded Deathclaws would prevent the others from leaving, at least for long enough that he could put a more permanent solution into place.

By "more permanent solution" he meant throw a couple satchel charges in and see if that solved the problem.

Of course, that presented the problem of getting close enough to throw them deep enough to do the job. There were still some very angry and injured Deathclaws that would very gladly claw him to pieces. So, in order to solve that problem he materialized and threw a Molotov Cocktail into the cave.

The effect was immediate. While Deathclaws were resistant to fire, much as they were resistant to just about everything else, fire still hurt and they wouldn't willingly stand in it.

It didn't burn for long, but for just long enough that he managed to throw a pair of remote detonated satchel charges into the area. He started to run away from the cave, and set off the charges sooner than he normally would have. Power armor had a way of making one less cautious about shrapnel. The detonation was, as all were, loud but magnitudes less than that of the previous one.

The Courier turned and switched back to his Gauss rifle, once again waiting to see if the explosion had worked. When the dust finally settled, it appeared that the entrance had been sealed. The Courier would have breathed a sigh of relief, but he knew he would have to spend the rest of the night clearing the area of wandering Deathclaws and ensuring that there were no other exits. So instead, he let out a sigh of resignation.


	145. Chapter 145 - Convergence

Chapter 145 - Convergence

It was early morning before the Courier decided the area was well enough secured to return to where the group had encamped. He had no idea what they had made of all they had heard, but he was aware that it would have been better if he had had some way to communicate the situation to them. Instead, he presumed they were in a state of high alert throughout the night.  
That probably wasn't the worst thing in the world considering there _were_ Deathclaws about, but he would have preferred to have had a means of giving them some sort of information about what was going on.

Dawn was still a little while away as only the barest parts of light were visible on the horizon. That was behind him and was increasingly obscured by the terrain. In front of him, the sky remained dark, the Long 15 and distant mountains stretching to the horizon to the North and South.

He headed for the Interstate. He began to retrace his steps, ensuring doubly that the path ahead was and would remain clear.

The Courier saw nothing as he walked alone down the empty road through the cool night air and near dead silence of the Mojave. Soon however the faint lights of the encampment became visible, though barely. As he got closer they became larger, dampening the stars by contrast.

The still night air was rent by a hail of gunfire from ahead and slightly to the left. At this distance and series of pops and cracks was nowhere near as deafeningly loud as it usually was, but the Courier reflexively flinched towards the ground, only barely preventing himself from lying down completely. After the initial reaction he changed modes entirely and sprinted in the direction he heard the shots coming from.

He had a horrible idea of what the cause of the commotion was.

The Courier knew that despite his efforts it was likely to all be over before he arrived. At least, assuming everything went well. In any case, he would be required to deal with the aftermath even if the crisis itself had been resolved.

The firing stopped a good twenty seconds after it had started. That was too long. The threat needed to have been dealt with more quickly than that if there were to be no casualties.

The Courier cursed internally. Despite his best efforts, he had proven unable to protect the group. It stung particularly because this was a matter simply of bad luck. The odds that a Deathclaw had ranged past the I-15 and just so happened to be out there when they were passing through and had not noticed or bothered them earlier were incredibly low. Low enough that he could not have afforded to protect against them.

It was one of the unfortunate truths the Courier had to live with. A certain amount of risk was inherent to any of his endeavors, not just to himself, but to those he sought to protect. He was simply physically incapable of guarding against all threats or preparing for all eventualities. The realities of life forced him to undertake tasks knowing that if certain things happened he, or other people, would die and there was nothing he could do about it. Like now.

And as he finally arrived at the site of the shooting it was readily apparent that his decision had in fact cost lives. A bullet riddled carcass of a Deathclaw lay on the ground. The 5.56 rounds the service rifles the slaves had taken from the slavers used was utterly insufficient for dealing with a Deathclaw. It was accompanied by the bodies of several men and women, strew about haphazardly with terrible rents in them that in some cases nearly bisected them, and blood, blood everywhere.

As it always was with these sort of situations, everything seemed distant. Almost everything was silent, except for the crying. The terrible broken sobbing from the fathers, mothers, sons, daughters, brothers, and sisters of the deceased.

There was nothing the Courier could do. They were all dead. Even had he gotten there as soon as the wounds had been made, he could not have helped. He turned and walked away, unwilling to linger looking at the consequences of a decision that sat so squarely on his head. The carnage was such that even his arrival had only barely been noticed by a few and his departure drew even less attention, much as he preferred it.

The facts of the situation were, as always, virtually entirely irrelevant to how he felt. The Courier's emotional state was dominated by a singular fact. The fate of the people he was supposed to be protecting.

He knew what would happen to them, beyond the fact that they were dead. They would be buried in a shallow grave in the sands of the Mojave, the ground being either too or not yielding enough to dig a proper grave in the time they had. In all likelihood, they would not even be given the dignity of being slowly devoured by insects and other decomposers, instead becoming the meal of some scavenger, their bleached bones left as a stark reminder of the cruelties and injustice of the waste.

The Courier found some rock near the edge of the encampment to be alone on. Things like the long term or Pyrrha's mental health were pushed almost entirely out of his mind. His was focused almost singularly on the painful facts he was living with.

A decision he had made, to go and scout the area up ahead, had resulted in the deaths of numerous innocent people. That was a fact, and there was nothing he could do about it. Worse still, he could not determine where he had went wrong. Based on the information he had had throughout his reconnaissance he didn't have any reason to believe that the camp was in immediate danger of being assaulted by a Deathclaw, at least, not immediate enough that it was worth delaying the elimination of a whole pack of Deathclaws that would try to kill them.

Of course, with the benefit of hindsight, it was easy for him to say that the whole thing could have been avoided had he say, gone back to the encampment immediately after having suspected there were Deathclaws in the area. But the Courier was also intelligent enough for that simple and comfortable line of thinking to do nothing for him. He knew that he had not had enough information at the time for that to have been the best decision.

The primary question was whether he would have acted differently in a similar scenario knowing what he knew now; could he be more cautious and prevent things like this from happening again? In the aftermath of such a tragedy, he very much wanted to say yes, but in all honesty he couldn't. The fact was that he had made what were the logical decisions based on the information he had had at the time. And it didn't pay off. He had done the logical, what he believed to be objectively correct thing at the time and nevertheless, people had died.

The supposed benefit of acting logically, and doing things "by the book" was that even if things went wrong, you could tell yourself "I did everything right, therefore it's not _my_ fault." But, as always, the Courier took personal responsibility for the outcome, even if he recognized that he hadn't done anything wrong.


	146. Chapter 146 - Stagnation

Chapter 146 - Stagnation

Despite the dramatic increase in occurrences in the recent weeks, Pyrrha was still not adjusted to being rudely awakened by the sounds of things that could kill her. The sound of a distant explosion had her eyes shooting open and her heart pounding. It took her a moment to remember where she was.

While she had gotten used to the fact that she was no longer on Remnant, the incessant moving combined with the fatigue, both mental and physical, that was a constant here meant that she was hardly at her best. It didn't help that she normally didn't have much of an idea of where she was even when fully awake. She only knew it was somewhere on "Earth."

There was a certain irony apparent to her in these circumstances. The day to day existence of moving forward despite feeling utterly lost mirrored her outlook all too well. While the connection was, once again ironically, largely indirect between the daily tedium and her feeling lost. Pyrrha had an unshakable belief that her being physically lost and directionless had nothing to do with her feeling that way. Instead, she firmly held that it was the result of the far more jarring events like the one that had woken her up that were doing the damage.

She sat up from where she was sleeping, looking into the darkness from which the sound had emanated. She could, of course, see nothing. She wasn't sure whether she had imagined it or not, but the sound of the explosion seemed to have gone on for longer than it should have. She was not the only one to have noticed as evidenced by the rise in murmurs and people generally milling around. Explosions were rarely a good sign. But it was far away and Pyrrha had encountered enough deadly things here to know they weren't exactly uncommon. So, laying back down, she went back to sleep, explosion be damned. She was too tired to be bothered with her safety. At this point, she was willing to rely on the benevolence of strangers in order just to rest.

The second time she awoke was as a result of gunfire. She had heard some earlier, but it sounded strange and distant. This was much closer. Close enough to be in the encampment. She shot up, grabbing her rifle almost fumbling while shouldering it and ran in the direction of the shots.

Only really half awake and adrenaline pumping, Pyrrha wasn't sure what was going on. She just knew that the appropriate response to danger was to meet it weapon in hand. The firing went on for a good twenty seconds before it gradually slowed to a stop. A few seconds later, Pyrrha got close enough to the scene to see what the commotion was. Even without her heels, she was tall enough to see blood.

Unlike her previous encounters with gorily macabre scenes, Pyrrha felt no compulsion to look. No inability to look away. In fact, she had hardly seen anything beyond the presence of blood before she had turned away. No longer was she transfixed by the carnage. She didn't even want to know what happened. Not now at least. She didn't have any morbid curiosity anymore.

Instead, she was simply miserable. She wanted to sleep. Even if, especially after what she had seen, nightmares were to come. No matter how much worse nightmares were than reality, at least you woke up. Pyrrha didn't have the luxury of waking up from this series of events that would have been too strange for a fever dream. Instead, she willingly went to her nightmares, finding there at least a refuge from reality.

While to Pyrrha it felt like she had a nightmare every other time she closed her eyes, the truth was that it was only about half that. Still enough to be unhealthy, but not nearly constant.

In any case, she successfully made it to the next morning, feeling unsettled by her dreams but unable to recall them, and doing her best not to think about them too much for fear of doing so.

Markus seemed to be doing worse than usual. Nearly silent,he was doing a lot more brooding than he had ever done before. There was little doubt that this had to do with what had happened last night. What _did_ happen last night by the way?

Pyrrha, without giving it much thought, gave voice to this question almost as soon as it had entered her mind.

Markus actually jolted slightly at her voice, for whatever reason not entirely there at the moment.

"There were some, Deathclaws ahead. One of them wandered over here and killed some people."

His manner of speaking had a strange cadence for some reason Pyrrha was ignorant of. In any case, she was more concerned about the actual information.

"A 'Deathclaw?'"

"Cross a Beowolf with a lizard, triple the length of the claws, increase the strength tenfold, make it almost bulletproof, and then make it almost as smart as you are, and you have a Deathclaw."

Oh.

She heard a slight tinge of bitterness in his voice, but was preoccupied. Pyrrha was more concerned with how poor her decisions had been the previous night, prioritizing the comfort of sleep over the the very real danger of bipedal killer lizards.

Despite this brief conversation between Pyrrha and Markus, he remained taciturn for the entirety of their journey.

Pyrrha herself was no better. In fact, she was almost certainly worse. The only way she had even managed to talk to him was out of curiosity of all things. Even the vital necessity of understanding major ethical questions and fundamental truths about the world and humanity could not make her communicate what needed to be said. Instead, she suffered in silence, her mind filled with problems that had only paradoxical answers, questions that led to only more questions and circular reasoning.

Had either one of the pair not been so engrossed in their own brooding, they would have found the hours of almost total silence to be painfully awkward. Instead, the almost forceful attempts to make small talk and speak normally became the awkward portions.

Of course, Pyrrha knew it was all her fault.

Markus made consistent efforts over the course of the journey to allow her to tell him what he needed to know to help; asking how she was, or if anything was wrong. Despite his own downturn in mood, his concern for her parallel change was not at all impacted. She, on the other hand, was totally non-responsive to these efforts, being less and less conversational, which soon became an impressive feat.

This process went on for days.

Markus had, perhaps as a result of how drastically Pyrrha's condition had changed for the worse, actually stopped his brooding entirely, his concern for her overriding any personal concerns for the time being. He had almost stopped asking if she was alright, but instead essentially refused to let her out of his sight.

But still, Pyrrha still didn't know her place in this cruel and callous world, and she still remained personally unable to find help for herself. Much like her suffering, the desert wasteland of the Mojave seemed endless in all directions. However, at one point, there was a part of the physical half of the metaphor that she hoped would be mimicked in her psyche.

They had started to climb some steep ground. Markus had said ordinarily they would have taken a path through the ground, however it was too narrow for such a large group, and instead they needed to go around and over. The climb had been tiring, but it was not at a steep enough angle to pose any danger to even the least physically able of their group.

They reached the Southern edge of the flat top of the terrain, and an almost sheer cliff dropped off before them. They had made camp there as night fell. In the morning they would climb down and continue South. Once all the others had gone to bed, Pyrrha was still awake, standing a little ways from the edge, looking out into the distance.

Markus walked up to her and stood next to her.

"There it is," he said, referring to the bright cluster of lights ahead of them, "New Vegas. Not even the apocalypse could cleanse Sin City."

Sin City. An ominous name. Yet the lights looked so full of hope from the distance. A lone candle in the endless desert.

A solitary tower rose high above the rest of the lights.

The tower reminded Pyrrha of Beacon, and its dominating feature. It seemed fitting this place would have its own twisted version of a tower. But, despite the omens, Pyrrha felt optimistic. If nothing else, it meant change.


	147. Chapter 147 - Crisis Management

Chapter 147 - Crisis Management

The Courier was relieved to see New Vegas. Relieved, but not in the least nostalgic. The Courier had no love for Vegas. The city was an utter mess even when he had first encountered it and stubbornly remained one. The tribes of the Strip were still effectively tribes, despite their appearance of being civilized. They were all still essentially warlords with their own interests and often barely, or even loosely, repressed violent tendencies. House had subjugated them, but only to a degree. His general lack of material presence meant he gave them a lot of freedom. Now, he didn't really know what had happened to them once the NCR had taken power. Perhaps the overwhelming force of their military was enough to force them to play by the rules.

But the Courier wasn't exactly optimistic. Considering the NCR's reputation, the odds of them understanding the situation and taking the steps necessary to break the power of the various factions on the Strip was highly unlikely. The situation underscored the common refrain that the NCR were far more interested in acquiring territory than securing it.

Still, any relief he felt was tempered by the steady deterioration of Pyrrha's condition. From a psychology perspective, he didn't have enough information to figure out what the catalyst was for this whole thing. While he couldn't be sure, evidence indicated that it was a, or several, factors that were causing this, rather than a steady rate as a result of the cumulative experience. The speed of her move towards isolation and (almost certainly not clinical) depression was variable.

There were two principal difficulties in identifying the specific issues that had triggered this response. First was the sheer number of experiences that would be traumatic for her. He had difficulty identifying them all because Pyrrha came from a different frame of reference than he was familiar with. Despite having spent a substantial amount of time both with her and on Remnant, he was still ignorant of some of the finer details of the various cultures.

Second, and by far the most significant of the two, was Pyrrha's apparent unwillingness to cooperate. She very deliberately avoided all of the frequent opportunities he gave her to explain what was going on in her head. He could deal with ignorance of the specific cause of her consternation if she was willing to work with him. But she quite evidently was not. For some reason he was also ignorant of. It was around the time they left Zion that she had stopped talking to him about her problems. He didn't know what could have caused it though. Perhaps the relative peace of Zion had allowed events to catch up to her? In any case, speculating would do him no good.

As they finally reached the Vegas end of the Northern passage, the Courier uneasily resolved to take a direct approach to resolving the issue, but only once the freed slaves had been handed off. He was highly uncomfortable with how depressed Pyrrha had become and was genuinely worried that she might engage in either directly on indirectly self-destructive behavior. Delaying dealing with it was something that could have dire consequences, but he was aware that it was not a quick process. Therefore he had determined that it was better to resolve the issue of the freed slaves first because it could be resolved relatively easily and then deal with Pyrrha. In the meantime, he would simply have to keep a very close eye on her and make sure it never got dangerously bad. If it did, he would have to try and fix things in less than ideal circumstances.

While there was a part of him that simply dreaded the actual process, it was entirely overruled by the part of him that knew that Pyrrha was suffering and needed help. The decision to delay was made entirely because he stood a much better chance of success in a safe environment with most immediate pressure relieved.

They were pretty close to Vegas now, with the imposing sight of the Lucky 38 casting its metaphorical shadow over the group. However among the freed slaves there was a feeling of relief and joviality with the sight of civilization so near. While the thoughts of the Courier and his partner were dark and foreboding, the rest of the group was in a mood of lighthearted near-celebration.

The Courier sighed. As always, things were a mess. Somewhat ironically, he realized that the time he had been most at ease was when he had been in what was essentially deep-cover at Beacon. While he had been forced to be constantly on edge to keep up the lie he was living, the fact was that he that he had had considerable freedom to act naturally as well. And as Vale had been a civilized place compared to the Mojave, there had been substantially less combat, even though that was expressly what his cover was. It was probably the longest period of low stress he had had since he had left the vault.

He started to lead the group South-West as opposed to directly South as they had been going before. They would keep a parallel course to the city until they got to the Northern entrance to Freeside. Just inside the gate to Freeside was the Old Mormon Fort. There the Followers of the Apocalypse could deal with the freed slaves.

As they walked the Courier surreptitiously watched Pyrrha. He noticed subtle changes in her body language that gave indications regarding her more pessimistic outlook. Her steps seemed slightly more labored than they should have been, her shoulders were almost imperceptibly hunched, and her head was angled a few degrees lower than it usually was. It was clear though that she was making an effort to conceal this, and that had she not cared about her appearance it would have been much more obvious. This was a good sign in that it showed that she did actually care. While it may have sounded silly, something as simple as caring about appearance was an important benchmark in measuring psychological condition. But before the Courier could go off into deep analysis of the few scraps of information he had, no doubt inevitably coming to the worst case scenario, they arrived at Freeside.

While the Courier was reasonably sure of his safety purely by virtue of reputation alone, he was nevertheless prepared for something to happen. Freeside was not a nice place to be, and chem addicts were hardly deterred by reputation. The size of their group garnered attention from all present, however they all quickly went back to what they were doing. Freeside was not the place to stand and gawk.

As far as reactions went, despite her attempts to maintain a dead face, Pyrrha's first impressions of Vegas were clearly not good. As for the slaves, their relief was tangible. He doubted the reaction would have been different had he led them into a place like Vale. Anywhere safe and survivable was more than good enough.

The Old Mormon Fort was on their left. Some of them knew the place by reputation and the group was thus abuzz with conversation.

The Courier addressed Derek.

"Tell them I sent you," he said, jerking his head in the direction of the fort, "I have some business to attend to on the Strip. Good luck."

Derek nodded, looked at him, looked like he wanted to say something, but just nodded again and turned around before walking away.

The Courier felt bad for him. The ordeal he had been through was one that was large enough to ruin his life and family many times over. But he forced himself to put that out of his mind before he went down the rabbit hole of empathy.

He turned to Pyrrha.

"Let's go."

They started walking south, towards the entrance to the Strip.

"What are we doing now?" asked Pyrrha.

"Now, now we're heading to the Lucky 38."

"What's that."

The Courier just looked up at it.

Pyrrha followed his gaze.

"Oh."

 **AN:** Sorry for the delay, I couldn't upload this chapter until now.


	148. Chapter 148 - Maneuver

Chapter 148 - Maneuver

The Securitrons at the Strip were, somewhat to the surprise of the Courier, still functioning. He had expected the NCR to consider them enough of a threat to get rid of them. Either someone had reprogrammed them to ensure they weren't or the NCR simply hadn't cared. The Courier suspected the latter.

He was almost pulling Pyrrha forward, keen to get inside the Lucky 38 from the second they arrived on the Strip. The visual assault of bright lights of the Strip seemed to have left her dazzled after so long spent in the barren desert, spending long hours thinking about things she would rather not have known. It had been such a rapid change of pace, a switch between the absolute absence of civilization and humanity to the hyper concentration of it.

It was that particular concentration that the Courier was keen to avoid. In his Elite Riot Gear he was highly recognizable, and Pyrrha was very clearly associated with him. Both positive and negative attention were dangerous. The Courier saw that there were a few more NCR troops than usual on the trip, but it otherwise looked almost exactly the same as he had left it. But before anything more could transpire, he quickly veered left towards the entrance to the Lucky 38, Pyrrha in tow.

They were luckier than the Courier had expected, and actually managed to make it into the building before anyone bothered them. The casino floor was as empty as ever. A multitude of long abandoned slot machines remained in rows covering the floor. In the center was the elevator which the Courier moved, still quickly, towards. While he was no longer as rushed as he was outside, he was eager to put a few floor between him and just about everything else that might cause him problems. Well, there was one specific problem he was very intent on keeping close to him and she was currently on his left and slightly behind him.

The two of them entered the elevator and the Courier pressed the button for the Presidential suite. The elevator began to move upwards rapidly.

"So, what are we doing?" asked Pyrrha.

The Courier hesitated a moment before he answered. He realized that he had not given Pyrrha any reason as to why they were here.

"I thought some rest might do you some good," he said neutrally.

It wasn't a lie, but also didn't reveal any more than was strictly necessary. Now was not the time to stage an intervention. Some rest _would_ improve her condition. Once she was physically recovered, he could start

Pyrrha gave him an incredulous look which he met with an absolutely expressionless face. After a couple of seconds she gave up and moved on to her next question.

"So what is this place?" she asked.

"It used to be a casino before the war. The NCR didn't have any use for it, so they gave it to me."

The Courier phrased his answer very carefully to avoid having to explain the whole "House" thing.

"Why'd they just give it to you?"

Once again, he was forced to do some more sentence crafting worthy of a politician to avoid having to tell her that he had simply killed the previous owner.

"Well, no one else could get in."

The elevator doors popped open, saving the Courier from that line of questioning. He was running out of half-truths to feed to Pyrrha. While he would have preferred to have been honest with her if only for the purpose of keeping her informed, he felt it was best to resolve the problems that existed before risking piling more on.

Pyrrha visibly relaxed at the sight of the amenities of civilization, things she had not seen in weeks. As far as the Courier knew, she had not spent any significant amount of time away from civilization before this. She had dealt with it remarkably well. Well, she had dealt with essentially everything she had encountered much better than she could have been expected to. She had seen and done things that very few people would be able to do and keep functioning. And she was functioning, though barely. But first things first.

"The guest bedroom," he said gesturing to the room, "Get some sleep."

Pyrrha nodded, finally showing her weariness as her entire posture drooped.

"By the way, at some point I'm going to go talk to the NCR. If I'm not here, whatever you do, don't leave the floor."

Pyrrha nodded slightly before collapsing onto a bed. The Courier hit the lights, entered the master bedroom, and closed the door. He sighed. While he hadn't slept in about forty-eight hours, he didn't have time to sleep. He needed to plan. Nothing to do with the Legion or the NCR however, but with Pyrrha. He needed to determine a means by which he could convince/force her to work with him to deal with her problems rather than suffer in silence. While him saying this was _slightly_ hypocritical, he felt he was too far in to change his modus operandi at this point. For Pyrrha, he could at least try to prevent her from repeating his mistakes. And so, the Courier planned.

The first thing in the order of helping Pyrrha was allowing her to recover physically, which was the point of rest. How long he wanted to wait for while she recovered physically before tackling her psychological issues was a question that needed answering. He could very viably wait several days before doing it. However, he didn't think it would make too much of a difference. He would check to see if she was more open to talking now that she was in a safe place and better rested. Already she was talking more than he had expected, so it seemed that simply arriving in Vegas and handing off the freed slaves had done some good. The amount of stress had been reduced dramatically.

In the highly likely event this didn't work, Markus knew he would just have to take the direct approach. The direct approach was a risky one to use in psychology and naturally thus never the first option. There was always a chance the patient might react badly to an attempt to force them to confront their issues, something they are by that point clearly unwilling to do.

However, this was essentially the limit of the Courier's ability to plan. From this point, everything depended on what the specific problem was. Well, now he had what amounted to a plan, the Courier at long last could go to sleep. He barely remembered to take off his armor before he collapsed.


	149. Chapter 149 - Intervention

Chapter 149 - Intervention

While the physical discomfort of the journey had dominated her early time on Earth, more recently it had given way to mental anguish. She had only realized just how much she had done without when the Presidential Suite showed her what she had been missing. While she didn't really have any prior experience spending a lot of time away from civilization, she did have an enormous amount of stubborn pride and a remarkable ability to endure pain with patience that stemmed from her background on Remnant as a champion and desire to be a Huntress. Thus despite being weakened by the lack of Aura, Pyrrha was able to walk across miles upon miles of desolate terrain without complaint.

When she had woken up with Markus nowhere to be seen, the first thing she had done was find the bathroom. While she had been far too exhausted to think about it earlier, she was absolutely filthy from so long spent on the road.

The bath had gone a ways to make her feel better, but she lacked any sort of change of clothes. Still, she didn't need to wear the body armor while she was in here. If nothing else, she now looked pretty much like she did before everything went wrong. Only a decent bit dirtier and more disheveled. She felt that was a pretty accurate representation of her current state. While the ability to relax was nice and the fact that there was no longer any pressure for her to do anything or be worried about getting killed at any point in time, there was a downside. With all immediate concerns dealt with, Pyrrha was left with the inability to escape the things she had avoided by focusing on other things.

In a way, she would much rather have been still out doing things with her life constantly under threat. Then at least, she would not be sitting on a couch staring at a wall and trying not to think.

It was because of this that her initial reaction of Markus walking into the room was one of relief. Of course she then proceeded to do the emotional equivalent of a one-hundred and eighty degree turn upon realizing that unless he was here to tell her that they were off to do more killing and saving he would no doubt force her to confront what she was avoiding. He was wearing the white checkered suit he normally wore at Beacon, evidently considering his armor unsuitable for this setting. He looked totally and inexplicably clean. But Pyrrha was not really giving much thought to his appearance. She watched his approach with an almost humorous level of trepidation.

"How are you doing?" he asked casually.

"Fine."

They were going through the same routine. The lines were almost always the same, it might as well have been rehearsed.

"What's wrong?" he asked flatly.

This was a deviation from the script. Usually he would just drop the subject.

"I said I'm fine," she said more morosely than she had intended.

Markus fixed her with a look. It was the look she had dreaded. Each time before she had worried he might press the issue. And now, apparently he was. The look said very clearly, much louder than if he had actually said it, "I'm not buying it."

Pyrrha didn't know what to say and hesitated. However the silence stretched on as she still couldn't come up with any response. Markus maintained the look. Eventually however, he was the one that broke the silence.  
"How long am I going to have to keep doing this until you tell me what the problem is?"

And there it was. He was looking for answers for questions she didn't want to ask. He walked over and sat on the opposite arm of the couch, half-facing her but maintaining eye contact.

"There are solutions to your problems. There are answers to your questions. You just need to tell me what's wrong."

He painted an appealing image. But Pyrrha didn't quite believe him. Not only did it sound too good to be true, there was also the simple fact that in order to comply she would need to actually reflect on all that had damaged her and determine the root problems. And she knew that would be painful.

"I know this is painful, but your options are to either deal with this early or let it fester. Dealing with it now will make the recovery easier."  
Pyrrha was a bit worried at how easily he was reading her. It seemed that he knew what she was thinking almost as she thought it. That, or her thoughts followed predictable patterns. But, the sentiment did strike a chord with her. Even now, Pyrrha was not one to shirk from a course of action that would be beneficial in the long term because of some short term pain. And so, she began the painful and arduous task of searching her memories for what caused the problems.

"There's a lot of things wrong," she said, still sounding dejected, "First, there was…"

Pyrrha trailed off. What was first? There was the entire events surrounding the whole Maiden thing, and the attack on Beacon, and Penny dying that had led to this whole mess but she had managed to reconcile most of those things in her mind and understanding by the time they left Zion that while they would almost certainly always affect her she could keep going towards her goals regardless. No, it was the event directly before their arrival at Zion that was the start of all this. The start of when she had stopped talking to her partner about this kind of thing.

Before, she had been willing to ask him for help with every issue she had encountered here, assuming (correctly) that he had had enough experience with this place to help her. With her failing to act and being responsible for the death of a good person she had simply been too shocked and ashamed of her actions to tell Markus. Not only did she fear how he would judge her for it, but she hadn't wanted to think about it or address the issue at all. Besides, she hadn't had much of an opportunity to when they were in Zion. Her own reasoning that she wasn't expected to help was weak by her standards and was only ever going to be a temporary alleviation of the issue.

"I...I let someone die. Right before we went to Zion. I could have shot one of the 80's but I didn't and he killed someone."

The words almost tumbled out of her mouth, unable to stop them once they started flowing. She felt herself start to cry, and was mad at herself for doing so. She had no business crying and feeling sorry for herself. That didn't help anything.

To all of this, Markus just nodded slowly. He spoke calmly with a tinge of reassurance.

"Pyrrha, killing someone in cold blood is something difficult to do and often requires a lot of training to carry out. Considering what you had gone through, no one expected you do be able to kill in cold blood."

"But someone is dead because of me, a good person is dead because I couldn't pull the trigger."

"You were not in any condition for combat. Your only concern should have been your survival. It was my job to take out the 80's."

While Pyrrha wanted to help others and wasn't comfortable prioritizing her own survival while others were in danger, the exacerbating circumstances and the fact that the situation was completely different to what she was trained for allowed her to at least justify and if not silence at least muffle the guilt she felt.

That was one problem down. Only the rest to go. _This was going to hurt._


	150. Chapter 150 - Circumstances

Chapter 150 - Circumstances

Pyrrha had at some indeterminable point decided to address events in chronological order rather than severity. It might have been a way of coping, she wasn't entirely sure at this point, but it made sense to her that it would be easier to go in the order of something totally divorced from emotion like time rather than have to do the inherently painful task of judging what hurt most.

Next in line was the other instance in which she was responsible for someone's death. This time, directly. Far more directly.

Her memory of the incident, despite how recent it was, was not a clear replay of events. Rather, it instead consisted more of a series of detailed images and emotions. The face of the man the instant before she had shot him, and the instant after. The fear that accompanied the first image, and the absolute horror that accompanied the second. She could still hear the echo of the gunshot. The sharp crack that masked the sound of its impact. And the feeling of blood on her, still feeling warm even in the desert heat.

"I killed someone."

She said the words steadily, in a more matter-of-fact manner than she had intended to. It had sounded to her ears more cold and dispassionate than it had any right to be.

It was the sort of sentence that she felt should be whispered, with a degree of horror. It should be accompanied with some sort of solemnity or reverence. Instead, she felt she had almost desecrated such a significant statement by her delivery.

Markus nodded silently. It didn't really help. The anticipation of waiting for his response was almost physically painful.

While Pyrrha knew that it was without a doubt justified and that she had absolutely had no choice in the matter, none of that changed the fact that she had killed someone in her mind. The act of doing harm to someone in a manner as visceral as she had cemented very strongly and in a tangible sense what killing someone meant. It was not the abstract concept of taking a that she was wrestling with, but the sensation of hot blood on her skin and the images of brain and blood covering the rock and sand.

"First, I think it's important to establish that the choice you were given was kill or be killed," said Markus, breaking the brief silence, "There were only two outcomes to that situation, one with you dead and one with him dead. While I know it probably won't help your conscience much to hear that, you should know that you will not find anyone who will disagree that you made the right decision. And while it's also not much consolation, you also made the correct decision from a humanitarian perspective. The world is a better place because you are alive and the Legionnaire is dead than if your roles were reversed. I want you to have no doubts that you did the right thing."

He spoke calmly and authoritatively. Pyrrha wasn't sure if it helped clear her conscience, but the simple validation from someone else that her choice had not only been correct but had been the only correct choice did help ease her guilt. And she _did_ believe that virtually anyone would have done the same in her circumstances, she still felt that no one on Remnant would really understand. Well, Markus would.

That was something she had not really given much thought to. Markus had, at some point, dealt with literally every single one of the things that she was dealing with now. Of course, his circumstances were no doubt vastly different having been born into all of this, but nonetheless he still would have needed to figure the same things out.

"How did you do it?"

The question hung in the air.

"How did I do… what?" he asked slowly.

She knew he knew what she meant, and she knew he knew that she knew. But she didn't know why he had stalled.

"How did you deal with all of this?" Pyrrha asked earnestly.

He looked away from her. While she couldn't tell what it was, something about him visually had changed. His presence wasn't quite as solid and his figure not so imposing. Instead, he for once looked...normal. He looked like he would not have been noticeable at Beacon Academy where he had not looked out of place, but was odd enough in bearing and demeanor to be worthy of note.

"To make a long story much shorter than it needs to be, up until about two years ago I lived a life just about as sheltered from all this as yours. It was in Vault 101. 'Where no one ever enters and no one ever leaves.' It was a bit more sheltered actually, I had never encountered anyone or anything that wanted to kill me until I left."

It was Pyrrha's turn to nod silently. He was from one of these "Vaults" that he had mentioned. And more importantly, he hadn't spent his life surviving out here. He was far more similar to her in situation than she had ever suspected. This information somewhat confused her understanding of Markus. She could scarcely imagine being stuck here alone.

"I used to be quite a bit like Ruby. Happy, naive, and full of optimism. You can imagine how quickly the wasteland changed that."

The mental image of Markus as any of those things was impossible to imagine but Pyrrha refocused the conversation onto the question she still needed an answer to.

"But how did you deal with it?"

He sighed and finally turned back to look at her.

"I didn't. I just try to ignore it and keep going."

His second sentence was in the present tense. Pyrrha knew what that meant.

"But what do I do?" she asked helplessly.

"I can't help myself, but, with any luck, I should be able to help you," he said, his ordinary tone and demeanor having returned.

"How?"

Things didn't look optimistic.

"You're not the first person to have done the things you've done or seen the things you've seen. Other people have done the same and have recovered. The process and methods for recovery are slow, but well documented. I have no doubt that you can do it."

With that, at least, things seemed at bit better. She could do this. It had, after all, been done before. The methods of a brutal world should be able to help her deal with its realities. But she didn't know if she could keep doing this.

The next issue was the darkest and in the end probably had the largest impact on her. Unlike the others, it was something that she hadn't really thought about in any material capacity. Thus her encounter with it resulted in a shattering of her worldview and her understanding of what she thought were simple facts in life.


	151. Chapter 151 - Cruelty

Chapter 151 - Cruelty

Markus was beginning to wonder whether or not this had been a good idea. He had gone into this without any specific plan only the principle of not lying to Pyrrha. He was certain he could tell her exactly what she wanted to hear about what she had encountered and supply the reasoning she needed to maintain her worldview. Unfortunately, this would have only delayed the actual problem to the future, where it would no doubt be worse. Pyrrha needed to understand the reality she would be facing and trying to delude her was not even remotely sustainable to say nothing of the ethical concerns.

The Courier knew full well that none of this would go any ways to repairing the psychological damage and trauma she had endured. That was something that might be irreparable and even in a best case scenario would require months or more likely years of therapy and treatment from a professional.

There was a part to all this that the Courier would have wholeheartedly denied if asked about. Perhaps he could have done so honestly as it was not intentional except on a subconscious level. A motivator for personally helping Pyrrha address these issues was that these were the same issues that he had been ignoring for far longer than was healthy. The demand for him to be honest with both himself and Pyrrha meant that he had the opportunity to address things he had been ignoring under the excuse that he did not have time to waste on himself.

After the long silence that had followed his answer to her last question, Pyrrha spoke once again.

"The man we rescued… his daughter, the slavers they…"

She gestured as her voice trailed off. Each word sounded pained.

It was not a complete sentence, or strictly speaking even a coherent one. But the Courier knew what she was talking about. It was the most impactful of the events. The one thing that she had encountered that she had been utterly unprepared for.

That was the thing, wasn't it? The big difference between him, and basically anyone on Remnant. It was really only those on Earth, the people who had actually seen it that knew. Perhaps there were some on Remnant who had seen it, who remembered, but the general populace remained blissfully ignorant of the reality.

None of them knew the worst of humanity, how low it could sink.

And now, being born and raised into that worldview, Pyrrha was now confronted with the very worst of what humanity had to offer. Even encountering the effects of the terrorists that had attacked Vale had affected her dramatically. The worst of Remnant was bad enough to encounter. He knew that from personal experience. Good people being killed by bad people was enough to be horrific. That's how everything had started in Vault 101 after all. But there was worse.

Slavery, torture, and rape. Acts ironically termed "inhuman" yet were depressingly common across humanity. Knowing that the worst of humanity was far more common than its best how could one maintain faith in it?

The Courier's solution was that he would simply do as much as possible personally and that it didn't matter whether or not humanity was good or evil, he would do all the good he could relentlessly. In all honesty, that wasn't a sustainable approach, nor was it one he would recommend to others, least of all Pyrrha, given its self destructive nature.

The first thing that needed to be established in his course for helping Pyrrha was understanding what exactly she had believed about humanity prior to being shown its worst. He knew she had been an optimist, and the events of Beacon were the worst she had seen of humanity. Much like Ruby and many of the others at Beacon, she had decided to become a Huntress because she wanted to be a hero. In a word, she was incredibly idealistic. Even if she had never ended up on Earth, the events that had transpired at Beacon were enough to change her worldview dramatically. What had happened to her here was enough to do, well _this_ to her.

What she needed was some way to reconcile what she now knew with her idealistic beliefs. The Courier had an idea.

"There are terrible people in the world. I have no doubt people are equally evil on Remnant, here they simply have more of an opportunity to act. People will do terrible things. But, more importantly, other people will stop them."

The Courier stopped there. This idea had evolved into something of a plan that could be used to help Pyrrha. The best way to convince someone of something was to make them think it was their idea. All he needed to was to help her reason her way into the idea he was coming up with.

"But no one stopped them! No one did anything!"

Perfect.

"We did. We came, freed the slaves, and ensured the slavers would never be able to hurt anyone else."

While Pyrrha's role in that entire event was marginal, the Courier had been very specific in using the word "we." The main thrust of his idea was that no matter how bad people were, and no matter how bad the world was, other people could make an immense difference. He was playing on her desire to be a hero by putting emphasis on the abilities of the individual.

"By killing them all."

Markus was somewhat optimistic about the success of his plan given that Pyrrha had changed the subject but it was difficult to tell. The fact that she had gone back to her being uncomfortable ethically with killing indicated that the higher priority of her understanding of the world and humanity being rocked had been dealt with, at least for the time being.

"Yes. Sometimes, the best option involves killing people. In the end, the difference between right and wrong is not based on any kind of line in the sand but rather making the best decision possible."

Pyrrha looked like she wanted to say something, gradually shifted to slightly pained look, and then worsened her posture, exhaling.

"None of it's fair."

Markus looked away from her.

"I know."

The Courier wasn't sure whether to get Pyrrha to a therapist on Earth or one on Remnant. Therapy on Earth could start sooner but would delay their return to Remnant while therapy on Remnant would do the opposite. He supposed it might be worth just asking Pyrrha, but he worried she might not be entirely cooperative about getting psychological help, perceiving it as a sign of weakness of something.

Markus let out a sigh. He was bad enough at managing his own mental state, the burden of trying to manage someone else's was not something he was best person to handle. Though to be fair, he did a lot of things he wasn't the best person to handle. Typically, he was either the only one willing or available.


	152. Chapter 152 - Semper Invicta

Chapter 152 - Semper Invicta

"That's it," she said quietly, but with a note of relief. This painful process was finally coming to an end. Pyrrha felt it was a bit like surgery. Painful, but very necessary.

"Nothing else? Nothing else at all?" Markus looked and sounded slightly incredulous.

When she thought about it she realized that she had only mentioned three instances. While these were each momentous in their significance, three seemed far too small a number for the amount of suffering she had experienced. However simply by the results she could tell that they had been the source.

"Nothing that can be fixed."

Markus nodded in understanding. Both of them knew that while this process had helped lessen the impact of the traumatic events, it had by no means resolved the issues. This was a stopgap solution, a regrouping and coping method.

Pyrrha at least felt more grounded, and no longer felt quite so lost. On the conscious and logical level she had successfully reconciled what had happened to her. In all honesty that was all she could have hoped for. The subconscious and traumatic issues she was lost on. She didn't know how to fix irrational problems. But, she felt substantially better. At least to the extent that she could continue to do whatever was the right thing to do despite her problems.

"If you're feeling okay, I'm going to go and talk to the NCR. Remember what I said, whatever you do, don't leave this floor."

"I-"

"Coming with me is out of the question. The NCR don't trust you and they won't talk about anything sensitive with you around."

"So what am I supposed to do?"

Markus shrugged.

"I don't know, sleep? Read a book?"

" _Are_ there even any books here?"

He shrugged once again.

"I don't really spend much time here, but it's a presidential suite, so there should be something. If not, you could always just figure out how to field-strip that," he pointed to her rifle.

"Alright," said Pyrrha a bit hesitantly.

Markus just looked at her for a few seconds before standing up.

"I'll be back soon, hopefully with good news."

She nodded and he walked to the elevator.

The doors closed, leaving her alone in the Presidential Suite.

The Courier was relieved when he finally arrived at the NCR embassy. Well, what used to be the NCR embassy anyway. Considering they annexed the Strip, it wasn't exactly an embassy anymore. It did show, with modification being done to make it look less run down. He hoped the Ambassador was still there. Crocker was a good man, and one the NCR sorely needed.

The Courier entered both the compound and building without challenge by the MPs, but numerous double takes. He was becoming seriously uncomfortable with how the NCR idolized him. It reminded him of why he decided to go to the Big Empty as opposed to help the NCR out more.

He was further relieved to find Ambassador Crocker's occupied, though there were numerous boxes and the room looked otherwise rather bare. The man in question was there, sitting at his desk as always, and that was the important bit.

"Ambassador Crocker, I'm somewhat surprised you're still here."

He had figured that they wouldn't have kept an ambassador in annexed territory for so long. There wasn't much diplomacy left to do in New Vegas. The NCR's might and control over the dam meant they controlled all the chips.

"Courier Six. I must admit, I thought you'd left for good. As for me still being here, I'm due to be moved to somewhere more in need of an ambassador in a few days. I've been giving the rundown of the situation with the factions of the Strip to the new governor and his staff."

"Do you know where General Oliver is?" asked the Courier.

He felt enough of a sense of urgency to not spend time on idle conversation.

"General Oliver? I should have figured it was bad news that brought you back. He and Colonel Moore are still operating out of the dam."

Once again, the Courier's expectations for change had been subverted. The lack of change and general slow rate of it was genuinely impressive. Not only was the NCR failing to act militarily, its domestic actions were still abysmally slow. He supposed it was the result of attempting to create all the functions of a pre-war first world government without the infrastructure or economic base to properly support the bureaucracy. Information needed to be sent by way of physical messages, slowing down everything significantly. Damage to the NCR's rail system by the Powder Gangers and other raiders meant that infrastructure was further degraded from its already poor state.

In any case, the Courier was now headed to the dam. It would be awhile before he arrived. One of the changes that he noticed as he gradually moved South of Vegas was that the roads seemed safer and busier. While the NCR didn't have the reach to properly patrol its roads, areas close to major bases of operation were very secure.

The Courier naturally did not remotely credit his own actions towards securing the road South of Vegas. He had in reality been of substantial influence in eliminating the Fiends and generally killing anything that bothered him or anyone else in the area.

Between all the traders and travelers, he did see the occasional group of NCR troopers on patrol or even more rarely a group of Brotherhood Paladins. The willingness of the Brotherhood to cooperate with the NCR was something that had given him great cause for optimism, both for humanity and the future of the Brotherhood.

The Courier was well aware that with the rebirth of nationstates, the Brotherhood was becoming increasingly outmoded and incapable of fulfilling their objective. The war between the NCR and the Brotherhood over Helios One was the perfect example of this. He had feared that the suicidally dogmatic approach of the Brotherhood's Elders would lead it to destruction. The fact that McNamara had agreed to ally with the NCR, however much out of necessity that was, showed that the leaders of the organization possessed the understanding of reality needed for it to survive.

The Courier's arrival at Hoover Dam gave a very tangible illustration of how the Brotherhood needed to adapt or die. NCR troops swarmed across the installation, despite there being no particular reason, the garrison of the dam itself was large enough to have a reasonable chance of taking on the entire Mojave chapter. The Courier knew that somewhere in that mess was General Oliver. He hoped that the leaders of the NCR would prove as reasonable as those of the Brotherhood.


	153. Chapter 153 - Four Stars

Chapter 153 - Four Stars

The question was whether to go to Moore or Oliver. While he had worked with Moore much more than he had with Oliver and considered her to be the better soldier, he knew that Oliver was the only one with the authority to authorize any kind of offensive, especially one on the scale he needed.

Therefore the Courier came to the conclusion that his best bet was to take this directly for the top and try to get Oliver to go on the offensive. He had done less likely things, but there were many things that were widely considered impossible that he knew to be easier.

Despite the fact that he had been gone for so long, none of the NCR troopers had the courage to question the presence of the Courier. They simply saluted and stared as he passed, often in the same motion. It had taken some getting used to when the NCR first started saluting him. He had been highly uncomfortable with it. By now however, he hardly gave it a second thought.

The Courier managed to walk directly into the office of General Oliver without any questioning on reputation alone.

The room was filled mostly with pre-war filing cabinets that had no doubt been concentrated here from other parts of the dam. Varying shades of white and off-white paper stuck out from the majority of them, giving the impression that they were filled to the brim. In the center of the room was a simple desk, covered in stacks of paper that partially covered a map of the western half of America. At this desk sat General Lee Oliver, writing on one of the many sheets of paper that the room was packed with.

The man in question seemed quite pleased with his arrival.

"Courier Six, I'd been hoping you'd come back."

Last he remembered, the higher ups of the NCR were more worried than happy about his presence. Something had changed for Oliver to be so overtly pleased with him being there. The mountains of paperwork gave him a pretty good indication as to what.

Now, Oliver had not been one of those in the NCR concerned about the Courier. Oliver's concerns had been strictly with the very immediate military matters of securing Hoover Dam and driving back the Legion. The Courier had been an asset to him in this regard and while Oliver thirsted for glory, the actions of the Courier, especially immediately following the Battle of Hoover Dam had given Oliver the very firm impression that he had no interest in claiming credit for virtually anything he had done. It was this trust and Oliver's hunger for glory that he would aim to leverage to get Oliver to reason himself into where the Courier wanted him to be.

The Courier replied with a statement he hoped would get him some context he needed to gauge how to approach his manipulation of Oliver into the offensive.

"General Oliver. I'm surprised by how little things have changed since I left."

"Hah, you been under a rock since Hoover Dam?"

Markus had nearly forgotten about the coarse manners of wastelanders and military men after spending so long in the highly sheltered and civilized setting of Beacon, especially while playing the role of someone "properly" educated and brought up.

"No, just too far east to get any news about Mojave happenings."

Oliver nodded.

"So why are you still at the dam?" asked the Courier.

He had been forced to ask directly. It was a carefully worded question designed to not imply a lack of action being the fault of Oliver and implying that he was stuck there by factors outside of his control. Whether that was true or not was irrelevant. All that mattered was that the Courier didn't bring up anything that could be construed as criticizing Oliver for his unofficial policy of "wait and see." The answer he got, while not surprising, would not have been his first guess.

"Politics."

"Here or in California?"  
"Both. A lotta people are getting against war. Not so much because of what happened here in the Mojave, the Dam is still considered a great victory, but because of the fuckin mess Baja is. Everything has ground to a halt politically. So I've been left to hold and administer this newly occupied territory."

This was better news than the Courier had hoped for.

"As you might have guessed, I'm here for a reason. I ended up having to take the long way back from the East, and ended up going through a lot of Legion territory."

He waited for a moment to ensure he had Oliver's full attention.

"Someone's trying to reunite the Legion."

"Aren't all of those plumed bastards trying?"

"Whoever it is has had enough success to muster a sizeable force. Enough to be a threat, and enough to bind other parts of the Legion to them by force."

"And what do you want me to do about it? In case you hadn't noticed, they've been very insistent on me not doing a goddamn thing."

"We need to attack and take advantage of our hard fought victory at the dam to ensure that the Legion won't continue to threaten the NCR. I don't think anyone wants a third Battle of Hoover Dam. Besides, right now the Legion is weaker than it has ever been and ever will be again. We have only to kick in the front door and the whole rotten edifice will come tumbling down."

The Courier knew the irony that came from the historical context of that last sentence would be lost on Oliver. He didn't believe that the offensive would fail, but he knew he was seriously underselling the strength of the Legion even in its disorganized state.

But Oliver was already shaking his head.

"The President would have my head if I deliberately disobeyed orders from Congress and went off opening _another_ front."  
Now came the exploitation of Oliver's faults.

"You're sure Kimball wouldn't appreciate the largest territorial expansion in the history of the NCR?"

"Not with all this pacifist bullshit going on. With Baja going to shit he's having enough problems."

"And this wouldn't be a politically timely distraction from Baja?"

Oliver paused, and then asked his own question.

"What would this offensive have to consist of?"

The Courier pointed at the map on the desk, the relevant region too central to be covered by bureaucracy.

"Last I've heard, the force of the resurgent Legion is in the North, fighting the tribes of Zion. The rest of Legion territory is as disorganized as we were expecting. The easiest thing to do would be a general advance into Legion territory, occupying it and preventing resources being sent to their main force. We then send a division, we could probably get away with a brigade, North to finish off the now starving force."

Oliver hmmmed.

"One last question," he said, "Would you say that this turn of events presents an immediate and serious threat to the Mojave?"

The Courier returned the conspiratorial tone that Oliver delivered the last part of his question.

"Oh certainly, not only does this threaten the security of the Mojave, but could potentially become an existential threat to the Republic if not dealt with early."

Oliver grinned.

"Existential threat to the republic," he repeated, "I'll definitely use that one."


	154. Chapter 154 - Check

Chapter 154 - Check

So far, Oliver had proven far more cooperative than the Courier had anticipated. What with the General's reputation for inaction, the Courier had not expected for him to jump at the chance to go on the attack. However, the truth was that most of what knew of Oliver was through hearsay and through people who knew him more by reputation than first-hand experience.

It seemed that the Courier had been lucky in the circumstances that he had found Oliver. Because Oliver was not moving up and was expressly forbidden from undertaking anything that would result in personal glory, he was highly receptive to an opportunity that would result in an immense amount of fame and reputation.

Reputation. That was another potential motivator for him. It was possible that Oliver had agreed to go on the offensive as a means of refuting the general perception of his unwillingness to attack. There was little doubt being called General "Wait and See" hurt his precious pride. Perhaps this was a measure towards repairing his ego.

In any case, while understanding the motivations of Oliver would be helpful should the Courier find the need to manipulate him further in the future, what really mattered was that he was attacking.

This entire thing was meant as a means to relieve the tribes of Zion from their impending extermination by the Legion. However while Oliver's resolution to go on the offensive would relieve the pressure on the tribes, the massiveness of the assault would necessitate a while to mobilize, and much longer for Oliver to have captured enough Legion territory to send a division North to finish off the resurrected Legion. Of course, that was assuming said force did not march South as soon as news of the NCR's advance reached them.

But the Courier could not rely on that. They might well decide to finish off Zion first. So, he was going to need to convince Oliver to send an advance force to help. The Courier knew Oliver wouldn't like what he was going to imply.

"It might be worth sending a force North to keep the main Legion force occupied. If they manage to finish of the tribes too early, we might have problems."

The obvious candidates for such a mission were the Rangers. They were the Special Forces of the NCR, often sent on these kind of missions far beyond the borders and supply lines of the nation. And Oliver's hatred for them was well documented. His resentment for the glory they received for their part in the First Battle of Hoover Dam was something that had caused serious material harm to the NCR. Thus the Courier knew that even vaguely bringing them up was a risky move. However, it was a job that needed to be done. If the Rangers were the ones so well suited for it that the problem led to them instantly as a solution, so be it. There was no way of getting around it.

Oliver nodded, which was a good sign.

"Yes...we need as much time as we can get." There was a brief pause, where the Courier waited with bated breath for the verdict.

"I'll send 1st Recon. While there's not enough of 'em to take out the whole force, the Legion should have a hell of a time trying to hunt those snipers."

1st Recon? The Courier hadn't expected that. He supposed he really should have. It was the ideal solution from Oliver's perspective. 1st Recon were more than capable of carrying out the harrying of an enemy, and didn't have quite the same mystique that the Rangers had, especially after Bitter Springs. While they _had_ played a pivotal role in the First Battle of Hoover Dam, they had not received the same degree of recognition as the Rangers had, meaning that Oliver saw them as less of a threat.

The Courier was reasonably satisfied with this outcome. Oliver had committed to both a general advance and sending a force to delay the main army of the Legion. This essentially accomplished all the objectives he had set out to do. On paper at least. The actual execution of this plan was something that was still in question. Oliver was after all using a technicality as an excuse to do all of this and could be shut down at any time, especially if Kimball went against it. But, as long as there was enough of an advance to threaten the Legion, it had the potential to put enough pressure on the them to focus on defense rather than expansion into Zion.

"Well then," said the Courier, "I think that about covers it."

Oliver simply nodded.

The Courier turned and began to to walk towards the door. However, before he reached it, Oliver had one last thing to say to him.  
"Courier, if you don't mind, tell 1st Recon to head out ASAP."

The Courier did a half salute which Oliver returned, and nodded.

"Yes Sir," he said and left.

So, he would go and send off 1st Recon to reinforce Zion before heading back to the Lucky 38 to figure out what he was going to do with Pyrrha.

As the Courier found his way out of the dam, he was wrestling with a moral dilemma of a nature he was not accustomed to. He very much felt that he should help defend Zion from the Legion. He knew that through his help lives could be saved. However, doing so would necessitate making the journey to Zion and back again. The problem with that was Pyrrha. He had absolutely no idea what he would do with her if he were to go to Zion. Taking her along was entirely out of the question. She was not in any state to be sent into combat, even if she herself wanted to. The fact was that she was not trained to kill people and neither had she done the alternative of being forced to kill enough to be desensitized.

The choice should have been a simple one. He could have found someone reliable enough to stick Pyrrha with while he was gone. However being alone among strangers in a dangerous place would no doubt be harmful to her mental health, especially in such a vulnerable time. Yet, that shouldn't have mattered. The mental health of one person should not even be in the contention for priority when there was the potential to save the lives of others.

And yet, it was. While the correct decision to make was not obvious, the reason it was more complicated than a simple arithmetic of suffering was.

In any case, that was a decision and debate he could put off for the time being. For now, he needed to tell 1st Recon to head to Zion. And not to shoot the Burned Man.


	155. Chapter 155 - Pro Gloria

Chapter 155 - Pro Gloria

The Courier hadn't had much interaction with 1st Recon since he had claimed the bounties for eliminating the leaders of the Fiends. He had seen them in action at Hoover Dam, but didn't know what they had been doing since. Now, it seemed that politics had put them in the limbo of almost total stagnation that had affected the NCR throughout the entirety of the Mojave. After so long, he heading back to Camp Forlorn Hope with a message, doing work highly befitting a courier.

1st Recon was, by nature, a small unit. While the Courier had only met Alpha Team, he knew that on the basis of the size of the NCR's military and level of equipment, 1st Recon, at least the portion that was deployed to the Mojave, could not be more than company sized and could even be as small as a platoon. While this was nowhere near enough manpower to defeat the reconstituted Legion forces, it should be enough to keep the Tribes alive.

Last he had heard, Boone had gone to rejoin 1st Recon after Hoover Dam. The Courier sincerely hoped he had. The NCR needed men like him. The Old World had shown that the institutions of democracy were not enough to preserve it. It needed people who were willing to fight for it, to force its preservation through will and action. The NCR, being in the early stages of a nation state, especially needed it. Now was the time that its existence was most under threat both internally and externally. That was yet another reason that the Legion needed to be destroyed as soon as possible.

Boone had been highly influential in developing his understanding and usage of military convention on a tactical level and allowing him to operate on a level of professionalism equivalent to special operations forces such as 1st Recon.

While the Lyon's Brotherhood had been militarized, it had largely on been in the nominative sense. The rankings and tactics were not based on pre-war military doctrine, instead being unique developments by the highly secretive organization.

A large part of the reason for this was the fact that the Brotherhood almost always went into combat wearing power armor. In the Pre-War era, power armor was never deployed by itself in the manner that the Brotherhood used it, and the technology was new enough that there had hardly been an effective doctrine developed before the bombs fell.

While the Lone Wanderer had done his best to learn the theory of special operations and conventional small unit tactics, there was no substitute for field experience.

It had taken a while, but the Courier finally arrived at Camp Forlorn Hope. It looked much the same as it had before, except slightly less populated. He assumed that the NCR had moved troops into the Strip or the other side of the rivers since the Legion had been driven back.

He headed towards the area that 1st Recon had taken up occupation of. There were three of them in the command tent: Lieutenant Gorobets, Corporal Betsy, and 10 of Spades. No sign of Boone.

They all looked up at his entrance.

"Courier Six," said the Lieutenant.

"Lieutenant," said Courier Six.

"You've been gone for awhile," said Corporal Betsy.

The Courier nodded, "Oliver sent me."

That piqued the interest of all present.

"Orders from the General," said the Courier, walking over to a small table on which was spread a map, "1st Recon is to head for Zion," he pointed out the precise location, "As soon as possible and support the tribes there in their war with the Legion until a relief force arrives."

"How long will it take for the relief to arrive?" asked Lieutenant Gorobets.

"However long it takes for Oliver to send one," answered the Courier.

The present members of Alpha Team shared a look. They all knew Oliver's reputation, but they were all professionals. They were all accustomed to high risk missions.

"What's all this about?"

"Someone's trying to salvage what's left of the Legion, and they've been successful enough that Oliver's decided to stop them."

"Hmm."

As expected, they were surprised about Oliver's decision to go on the offensive. In all honesty, so was the Courier. He had judged Oliver's defensive doctrine to outweigh his desire for glory.

"Where's Boone?"

"He's out on patrol at the moment. It's what most of us do these days. There's not much need for it, but we like to keep busy. We'll marshal here and all head out tomorrow at 0600."

The Courier nodded. It was good to know that Boone had finally made peace with his existence.

"Alright, good luck," said the Courier. He gave the group a nod, which was returned, and left, setting off back North to Vegas.

Now, the Courier was forced to deal with the question he had been avoiding. Of whether or not he would be accompanying 1st Recon tomorrow. He was torn between doing what would be best for Pyrrha, and the general good. If it had simply been bias as a result of his personal connection to Pyrrha, it would have been easy to put that to the side and see what the objectively correct path would be. However, like almost everything else, it was not that simple. He also felt a personal responsibility to Pyrrha. This was multifaceted and as complicated as anything else.

There was the fact that she trusted him completely. That alone meant that acting to her detriment would be a betrayal. Combined with him being appointed as her leader, he firmly responsible for her well being more directly than he was for that of the general population. That he had been in what was essentially deep cover had, in his mind, no bearing on the responsibility that he had been assigned. The fact was that he _had_ undertaken the role and Pyrrha expected him to be looking out for her. Throwing her under the proverbial bus was something he did not feel he could do in good conscience.

He had also gotten her involved in this whole thing when by all rights she had no business being involved. She was from an entirely different _planet_. While it was true that he had only taken her here as a last resort and had never intended to get her stuck here, it didn't change the fact that he had. And now he was responsible for everything that happened to her while she was here.

By the time he arrived back at the entrance to the Lucky 38, hours later, the Courier still had resolved nothing. He had succeeded in findings his problems, but utterly failed at solving them.


	156. Chapter 156 - Nostalgia

Chapter 156 - Nostalgia

Having been left alone, Pyrrha found herself in the odd situation of not knowing what to do with herself. While the luxuries of the Presidential Suite were nice after so long in the dust of the road, there was nothing for her to do other than sleep, which while she would not have believed herself twenty-four hours ago, she had had enough of.

Therefore she sought distractions, things she could do to keep herself occupied until she was tired enough to eat more hours through sleeping. It was sort of like being in a very comfortable prison. Nothing to do, and nowhere to go.

For the first time in a long time, she sought distractions not to avoid thinking about the past, but simply and entirely due to boredom. While she was a far cry from having made peace with what she had done and experienced, she had, at the very least, eased her conscience and ensured that she could function with at least the appearance of normality.

The first thing she had decided to do was field strip her weapon. It had been the most obvious thing to in that it was highly tactile and had been mentioned to her by Markus.

While she was not into weapons as a hobby and thus not as enthusiastic about them as Ruby was, her chosen calling necessitated a high degree of familiarity with them. While, after all that had happened, she couldn't say she was heart broken about the loss of her weapons, it did affect her. Beyond the sentimental value her weapons possessed as objects so associated with her life and past, the loss of them was also highly symbolic to her. Weapons, especially ones as personalized as those of Huntsmen, were symbols of the personality and ethos of their owners.

Seeing Miló destroyed and Akoúo̱ lost likely forever, was to her a fitting metaphor what had happened to her. Not only on the tower, but also everything that had happened after.

It hadn't taken long for her to field strip and clean the M14. It was relatively simple and was largely similar to Miló. She was disappointed with how little time it had taken. Now she was back to where she started: bored.

The M14 was a weapon that she considered sort of wasteland counterpart to Miló. Dull and weathered, with a serial number, lacking in any degree of personalization, simply one of hundreds of thousands made. The scope and suppressor said the weapon was one for killing quietly and from a distance. While the former was a common enough sight on Remnant, the latter was something there was little need for. It's purpose was for silent killing. It was not something Huntsmen had a great need for.

There was also personal meaning to this weapon now. It was the weapon that she had killed with. Her first kill had been with this rifle. She hoped that her first kill was also her last, but after all she had seen, and all she knew, she doubted it. That was a level of optimism that she could no longer maintain.

However, Pyrrha now had nothing left to be doing.

Eventually, Pyrrha remembered the other thing that Markus had suggested she do: read a book. Well, she didn't know if there _were_ any books in this place and neither did he for that matter. In any case, the act of searching for one would stave off boredom, at least for a little while.

There were no books in any obvious locations. All bookshelves appeared to be entirely bare. It was a bit strange actually. The rest of room appeared to be completely furnished, yet books appeared to be entirely absent.

Finally, she found one in what should have been an obvious place. It was a strange looking thing, well worn looking but the rigidity of its spine made it look unread. It had what looked like most a skull depicted on the cover, and was titled "The Wasteland Survival Guide." While ordinarily this sort of thing would have been a bit dry for Pyrrha, considering both the fact that she had nothing else to do and could seriously make use of the information contained therein, she picked it up, and sat down in one of the nearby chairs and opened it.

The first line immediately caught her attention. "Lead Author and Subject Matter Expert: Markus Friedrich  
Assistant Author: Moira Brown."

While Pyrrha paid a bit of attention to the survival advice, the lion's share of her attention was focused on the fact that Markus had supposedly written this book. She wanted to learn as much as she could about the mysterious past of her partner. In her mind, it was a very sort of tragic and romantic concept, having a dark and mysterious past. While she wasn't so naive as to lack the empathy and understanding of the scale of the suffering that implied, she was intrigued and fascinated more than sympathetic.

While the crucial elements of the book appeared to be largely sourced from research conducted by Markus and first hand accounts and advice from him, the bulk of the text appeared to have been written by the co-author, Moira Brown. She skimmed through many of the anecdotes and technical details, looking for instances of her partner's involvement and background.

The quotes from him sounded sort of like him, but also not. They didn't seem quite so...miserable. Pyrrha thought that "miserable" might have been too strong a word. Perhaps jaded was more accurate. He sounded far less jaded despite, by the accounts in the book anyway, having gone through bad enough things that he had all rights to be jaded _and_ miserable.

 _I mean stumbling into the room half dead with a broken arm?_ She thought incredulously. Yet, even then, he didn't display any of the taciturn broodiness he did now. Some of the usual sarcasm, but even then in a less biting and more good natured way.

Pyrrha wondered just how old this book was. It couldn't have been more than a year or so based on what he had told her. He must have gone through some _very_ bad things to have made this transition based on how well he held up after having to kill people and endure the suffering that he had.

She actually felt a bit insecure about how _she_ had dealt with the same issues. When it was her turn to be thrust into this cruel world, not even alone, she had almost shut down when confronted by those issues. In contrast, he had managed to maintain a fairly normal disposition. At least, for awhile it seemed. He too appeared to have a breaking point.

Moira Brown was another subject of her interest. From the tone of the writing, she seemed a bit...odd. Strangely enough, she hadn't really given much thought to the fact that Markus knew people here. The only one she had known of was the Burned Man and the rest of the tribals in Zion. Thinking about it, there was no doubt that he knew other people, and was probably friends with some of them. She felt a bit silly having not really thought about him in normal terms. She justified it through the reasoning that she didn't really know much about his past.

Having little else to do, Pyrrha decided to simply read the book in its entirety. It would be useful information and would certainly be an effective method for whiling away the hours.


	157. Chapter 157 - Perk: Survival Expert

Chapter 157 - Perk: Survival Expert

Pyrrha was still reading the book as it grew dark. It was not a long book by any means and Pyrrha had made her way through most of it in a few hours. While ordinarily it would have been a very dry read, the prospect of it holding information about Markus gave her the motivation to power through it at an unusually fast pace.

The book was informally divided into three different sections. Each of these sections had their own chapters and dealt with a different topic relevant to the survival of a person or community in this harsh world.

The first section addressed the basic skills needed to survive, combat skills, and the dangers of radiation. Pyrrha hadn't really considered just what it would take to survive on one's own in the barren wastes of this world. She knew of course that she was incapable of doing so, but had not thought about what skills would be needed to actually accomplish it. From what she had read, one of the most critical factors was simply having a strong stomach. The things considered food here was incomprehensibly disgusting by her standards. In the hypothetical choice between eating these things and starvation, Pyrrha had difficulty saying that she could do it. There were serious doubts in her mind whether her desire to live could overcome the nausea. She suspected it would as she knew the lengths people would go to in survival situations, but still had difficulty envisioning it.

The combat section was mostly basic, common sense advice regarding cover, firing, and maneuver. Pyrrha hadn't really had much experience fighting humans both here and on Remnant, but the biggest difference she noticed here was that every action was of much higher here than on Remnant. Aura meant that one had the ability to take a lot more risks as well as simply accept getting hit in exchange for tactical advantage. Here, life and death was a question of luck. No matter how hard one tried, there was always the possibility of a stray bullet hitting somewhere important. While the chapter reminded her of this fact, it was largely incidental. The text focused mostly on giving beginners the information needed to wield weapons effectively as opposed to more technical and complex aspects.

The section on radiation was quite interesting to her as it was a concept that she had knew next to nothing about. Essentially all she knew was that it was an invisible poison that permeated virtually everywhere in this place. While the book, being a survival guide, did not explain what it was, it instead gave a thorough explanation of the horrific and painful effects of high doses of it. Pyrrha recognized some of the signs from very shortly after her arrival here Markus had stuck an IV into her arm. Seeing the symptoms of later stages made her realize that to a large degree, her life literally depended on her regularly taking the Rad-X (as it said on the bottle) that Markus had given her.

The fact that Markus had irradiated himself for the purposes of detailing its effects for this guide seemed almost entirely out of character for him. From what Pyrrha knew of him, he didn't seem crazy enough to casually do this amount of damage to himself for a flimsy reason. At least, not anymore. The more Pyrrha read, the more it became clear to her that something had changed him. More so than just being here and having to kill people.

The second section detailed the variety of creatures and mutants one found in this world were disturbing to her. The images described even only in her imagination were horrific. The "Centaurs" especially sounded incomprehensibly disgusting. She found a lot of these creatures just worse than Grimm. Not in terms of threat, she didn't know enough about them to make that judgement, but in terms of just how _wrong_ they felt. The ones that used to be humans had obvious reasons as to why they were worse than Grimm. Grimm weren't people and were never people, which is why they could be killed guiltlessly. As well, the creatures that used to be people were, in Pyrrha's mind, macabre reminders of the fact that people had effectively if not literally died for them to exist.

Even the creatures that were mutated insects or other strange things that had no relation to humanity disturbed her. While Grimm looked undeniably evil (or her view of what evil looked like had always been associated with the Grimm) they were a sleek looking evil. These creatures looked like every moment of their existence was agony. They looked like utter abominations to nature. And Pyrrha didn't like insects. She didn't know anyone who did. Giant, deadly ones were quite possibly the worst thing she knew of.

The third and final section was the one she was currently reading. Considering her reasons for wanting to read this book (aside from boredom) this chapter was the most interesting to her. The subject was the fairly broad topic of attempting to rebuild society and reclaim some of what had been lost in the war that had destroyed this world. The actual actions taken by Markus seemed to have taken a backseat to emphasizing the message of optimism and rebuilding rather than the practical elements.

Pyrrha was finding it difficult to tell how much of this section was written by Markus, and how much by, she checked the first page again, Moira Brown. While certain phrasing sounded a lot like him, and certain things seemed liked things that he specifically would be likely to know, the chapter, on a whole, seemed tonally inconsistent with almost everything she knew about him.

While the rest of the book had portrayed a far different Markus than the one she knew, this chapter was a far cry even from that. It sounded, while not necessarily naive, highly idealistic. It was rhetorically very well written, but Pyrrha wondered whether or not he still held any of the ideals espoused in the text.

In any case, she kept reading even though it was late enough that she could likely have slept if she had wanted to. She was far more interested in seeing if she could gain any more information on what had happened to Markus.

It was fully dark by now, and Pyrrha was entirely engrossed in the book she was reading. The M14 was leaned against the wall next to her. She heard the elevator ding and involunatary reached for the weapon. She sat back and exhaled. That was not a normal reaction. But Pyrrha had stopped expecting normal at this point.


	158. Chapter 158 - Recollection

Chapter 158 - Recollection

The elevators doors pinged open and the Courier walked out. He still didn't know what to do. The best he had done was to decide he should explain the situation to Pyrrha to see what she thought about the whole thing. He had an inkling of what she would say, but figured it was worth it anyway. Markus didn't really have any intention of acting on her opinions, but felt it was a good idea to see what she made of it all.

He exited the elevator quietly. While it was not particularly late, with the events of the preceding weeks he wouldn't have been in the least bit surprised if Pyrrha was sleeping. He walked into the dimly lit hallway the elevator emptied into. Looking towards the guest bedroom, he noticed that the lights were on. He immediately abandoned his silence, and made an effort to make his footsteps adequately audible. He had unintentionally snuck up on more people than he could count which had resulted in infinitely more awkward starts of conversations than he cared for.

Pyrrha was sitting in one of the chairs and turned to look at him upon his entrance. He noticed the M14 leaning up against the wall next to her, looking spotless.

All intentions of discussing the future were instantly postponed upon seeing what Pyrrha was holding. It was a book, which ordinarily would not have given him much pause, the title however was enough to distract him. _The Wasteland Survival Guide_. He hadn't realized it was here. He almost never used the Lucky 38. Seeing the book, however, he remembered leaving it here in one of his rare visits to this place. He remembered that the only thing he had done with it was to look through it to see if it was genuine. He had been shocked to discover the book had made it out this far when he first found it. While there had been a few months between its publishing and his finding it, it had gone much further than he had thought possible, especially considering no one else he knew of had found the transcontinental railway.

In any case, Pyrrha had found it and from the looks of things had nearly finished it. The Courier supposed it was probably a good thing for her to be doing. While she wasn't likely to need many of the tips for surviving, some of the advice regarding combat might be relevant, as would the sections on the creatures that inhabit the wastes, and the rebuilding process that was occurring in the wastes.

"You never told me you wrote a book," said Pyrrha.

The Courier walked into the room and leaned against a shelf across from her.

"Well, it never came up. It would have been a bit odd for me to say, 'Oh, by the way, I wrote a book.'" he said, "What do you think of it?"

Pyrrha hesitated for a second before answering.

"It doesn't sound like you."

"I'm not surprised, Moira wrote most of it."

The Courier knew full well that that was not what Pyrrha meant, and had an inkling she could probably guess that he was not that oblivious. But it didn't matter. He just wanted to avoid having to talk about why he had changed. More specifically what changed him. He didn't want to think about his past. The dreams were bad enough, actively approaching it in his waking life was not something he was at all keen to do.

"No, that's not it. The quotes from you don't sound right. Neither are the things it says you did."

He knew what she was talking about, and still didn't want to give a straight answer. Largely because he didn't really know or want to know the answer himself. They (whoever they were) said time healed all wounds. While he didn't feel he had enough evidence to draw a conclusion, as far as he could progress was far too slow for that to be an effective measure. If his stopgap measures weren't as good as they were, he would have been long dead had he been relying on time to fix him.

"This was written a while ago, on the East Coast. Things were different then."

It was very vague answer, but he hoped that it was enough to end this line of questioning.

Pyrrha nodded slowly, looking very much unsatisfied with that answer but much to Markus' relief changed the subject. Sort of.

"Who's Moira Brown?"

At least that was an easy question.

"She's sort of an amateur inventor who's read everything she could get her hands on. Her personality is a bit...odd."

Pyrrha looked like she was about to ask him to clarify, so he preempted her by giving her the best explanation he had.

"She's a bit like Nora."

That clarified everything. Especially the things that Moira had asked him to do.

"Why do you sound so different though?"

The Lone Wanderer had known that this question would resurface, and yet had not devised an adequate answer. Doing so would have forced him to think about that which he was avoiding, making the exercise self-defeating.

However Pyrrha's question forced him to answer.

"Things got a lot worse after that. I've tried to just not think about it for the most part."

It was a lame answer. Worse, actually, than the preceding one, but it was something.

"I thought you told me it was better to deal with these things early?" said Pyrrha.

It was clear from her tone she was joking, trying to lighten the mood. But it failed miserably. It had only made the Lone Wanderer more aware of what he had done, and was still doing: refusing to face, or even think about, the issues that caused most of his psychological problems.

While he had framed it as trying to help Pyrrha deal with her own problems better than he had his own, he was still a hypocrite. He had told her that it was better to deal with these things better earlier than later, as they only festered. But that was what he had done. Let them fester and compound, to the point that he feared facing them because he didn't know if he could. Well, it had worked so far. But he knew, it was unsustainable. He would either need to fix the foundation or the whole thing would collapse. He didn't know which he feared more.

"So...ah...," Pyrrha said awkwardly, trying to change the subject to one less sensitive, "How did it go?"

Oh. The whole NCR, Legion, and Zion thing. That was something that could keep him busy enough to avoid having to stop and face his problems.


	159. Chapter 159 - Antithesis

Chapter 159 - Antithesis

There was a temptation for the Courier to simply tell Pyrrha that the NCR would take care of it and everything would be fine. It would have been much easier to just not deal with the entire thing. Well, that was the way it was for most things. The fact that the option had come up at all was unusual. The Lone Courier had been in countless situations where simply not doing anything would have been the easiest thing to do. Never before had he seriously considered it however.

Perhaps it was because he felt that this was in the end pointless. He was almost certain of what Pyrrha would have to say about the whole thing. However he decided simply to tell her the truth and see where that went. Perhaps it might lead to a resolution. Or not. In any case, there was nothing risked.

So, he started by answering her question.

"The NCR have agreed to help. They are advancing into Legion territory as soon as possible with the intention of cutting the supply lines of the force in Zion before sending a force to finish them off."

While the Courier had finished his sentence, Pyrrha spoke before he could continue with the rest of what he was going to say.

"Will they be fast enough to save Zion?"

Pyrrha's face clearly displayed the worry she had for their safety. Markus considered it a good thing that she still had it in her to worry for the safety of people she barely knew, even after all she had been through.

"1st Recon is heading out tomorrow to support the tribes in their delaying action."

The Courier could have given an exact quote of what Pyrrha was going to say before she said it.

"I want to go with them."

Markus was shaking his head before she even finished the sentence.

"You're not in any condition to be going all the way to Zion and fighting a guerilla war there."

While being incapable of denying his logic there, Pyrrha was nonetheless unrelenting.

"I want to help."

This was more resistance than he had hoped for, and more emotionally based than was easy to deal with. The more rational her desire to help was, the easier it would be to dissuade her. Here, he would need to use a different approach.

"Why do you want to get involved anyway? They don't need help, at least not more than they've already been sent."

It was something he didn't quite believe himself and was saying it to reassure himself as much as he was to convince Pyrrha. He knew that there would inevitably be friendly casualties and that if he assisted them, that number would likely be lower.

"I owe it to them. Someone died because of me."

This again. Watching someone die in front of you, knowing you had the power to stop it was something that was particularly scarring and couldn't just be rationalized away. It stayed with you. But the Courier had more than his fair share of experience with things that "stayed with you." No matter what, he had still endeavored to walk his rational and moral path.

"We've been over this. You couldn't be expected to do anything different-"

"But if I had, he still would have been alive."

This was the thing that made it incredibly difficult. The knowledge that a simple decision, and a conscious one that you knew was right, could have saved someone. However, there was more to it than that. Killing was not as simple as it seemed.

"You can't be expected to be able to kill without hesitation. That's something that takes lots of training or experience and often times both. You have neither and should be most concerned for your own well being at this point."

Pyrrha deflated, some of the steam that was driving her dissipating.

"I want to help people, that's what being a Huntress is all about."

Of course, that was what this was all about. A lot of this line of thinking made much more sense in the context of Pyrrha having much of her identity based on her desire to be a huntress and a hero. But war was not the province of heroes.

"Pyrrha, unless you can kill people in cold blood, without hesitation, you can't help. You're not trained for this. Huntsmen are supposed to help people, not kill them. You don't belong here. Your main concern should be getting back to Remnant."

Markus was now trying to shift the conversation. It was funny to him in that part of this was him convincing himself that he was doing the right thing in prioritizing Pyrrha over saving some of the residents of Zion or members of 1st Recon.

"You didn't belong on Remnant, but that didn't stop you from helping."

This was the last thing he wanted. Her drawing comparisons between them. He was almost the antithesis of a role model. He would go to virtually boundless lengths to ensure that Pyrrha did not follow his example. However he was not capable of reconstructing exactly what his problems were without getting to their source, an area he made a policy of not touching. Or at least as much as his dreams and memories would allow.

"My goal was always primarily to get back to Earth, the fact that I helped was incidental. Besides, you _have_ been helping. You've helped free slaves, kill ghouls, and kill Legionaries."

It was at that point that he had started to essentially just lie to Pyrrha to win the argument. He helped because he would have considered it wrong not to. Truthfully, Pyrrha's presence or lack of it would not have made any difference in the outcomes of any of those situations.

"You didn't need me for any of those."

And she had called him on it. Well, only one of the lies.

"And 1st Recon and the tribes don't need you to fight the Legion. In any case, just because I didn't need help doesn't mean you didn't help."

While his logic was questionable, the rhetoric was nice enough that Pyrrha deflated further in the seat, letting out a deep breath.

Now, in a resigned, half-tired sort of voice, she said, "So, what now?"

And that was the question, what now?

"We're still a long way from where we can go back to Remnant. For now though, I think it's best if you rest for a bit more. While we're here, it might be a good idea to do some preparation for the rest of the journey."

"Like what?" asked Pyrrha.

"Well, some proper attire wouldn't hurt."


	160. Chapter 160 - Killer Instinct

Chapter 160 - Killer Instinct

The Courier had taken some convincing to agree to allow Pyrrha to even leave the Lucky 38. Eventually he had conceded that she had nothing else to do and her presence was necessary in the aim of equipping her better.

He had laid down some maxims regarding how Pyrrha should conduct herself in public. It was not the most encouraging advice, but it was aimed at avoiding confrontation.

"Don't talk to anyone. In fact, don't even look at anyone."

In most other contexts, the statement would have been humorous. The Courier however, had a way of making even the most ridiculous sounding of sentences appear deadly serious.

"If someone asks you questions, answer as truthfully and as vaguely as possible without appearing to deliberately avoid the question."

Pyrrha scrunched up her face thinking about what that would entail before relaxing and unconsciously giving a half nod.

"If you hear gunfire, find cover and just stay there. Don't worry about anything other than survival."

The Courier knew this was a tall order, but considering his track record attempting to protect Pyrrha in battles, he felt it was necessary.

"I'm not completely helpless, you know," said Pyrrha.

"Even slightly helpless is too much." This was said less seriously, though it point was as serious as his previous statement.

"I'm _not_ helpless."

Markus gave her a half sceptical look before returning to a more neutral expression. He wasn't going to try and argue that Pyrrha was helpless. Only that the stakes were a high.

"If you get shot, there's a decent chance you'll die. Let's try to avoid getting into circumstances where you can be shot."

She clearly wasn't pleased with the cowardly level of lack of confrontation he advocated, but couldn't properly reason a response. Markus didn't particularly care to convince her that this was the best way. He just wanted to avoid the stress that was inherent in trying to keep Pyrrha alive through firefights. The prospect of her dying was something that would represent an intolerable personal failure.

It was partially for that reason that he had insisted she wear the Dragonskin body armor, and properly this time rather than simply putting the ballistic vest over her Remnant clothing. While Pyrrha was not happy about wearing it again, after having experienced being shot, she put it on without resistance. While she still felt ridiculous wearing it, she at least felt less ridiculous now that she was not wearing half of it over her original outfit. At the very least, she now had a consistent aesthetic.

The Courier knew that New Vegas and the Mojave in general were brimming with all manner of unfriendly denizens. Prior to the Second Battle of Hoover Dam, it was rare for him to be able to get from one place to another without having to kill something. The assassins the Legion sent after him were also irritatingly common. The fracturing of the Legion unsurprisingly failed to stop them. In fact, it was likely that the attacks would increase.

Beyond the usual Frumentarii that hunted him, Legion die hards, lacking high command, would likely seek him out for vengeance. It was to such a degree that the Courier wondered whether it would have been safer to send Pyrrha out alone.

Of course, he never seriously considered doing that. He couldn't send Pyrrha into danger in good conscience. In any case, while she was less likely to be attacked, that was more than made up for by the fact that she could not effectively defend herself.

It was a rather strange thing to say about Pyrrha, of all people, and strictly speaking, it wasn't true. While she had defended herself on a series of occasions on their way here, the Courier did not believe she was capable of doing so with any kind of consistency. Well, specifically defending herself against humans. Markus knew she was not in a mental position to be able to kill without hesitation when the situation required it in circumstances less obvious than the kill or be killed situation she had found herself in when facing the Legion.

The truth was that as long as Pyrrha lacked that ability, it did not matter how technically adept she was with her weapon or even her tactical ability. The ability to kill was something that required practice. Either in the sense of conditioning during training (as actual militaries did) or simply being forced to kill over and over again and surviving the hesitations out of luck and desperation. The idea of either one happening to Pyrrha was not attractive to him.

The Courier was aware that by doing things this way he was effectively sheltering Pyrrha, and knew that if she was aware of this she never would have let him. However, he was responsible for her, and did not want to have the lasting psychological trauma that that would inevitably cause be his fault. In any case, soon they would head to the Big MT, fix the Transportalponder Mk. II, and Pyrrha could be off back to Remnant, and not have to worry about having to kill people anymore. And hopefully get the therapy she needed there.

It was mid morning when they left the Lucky 38. Pyrrha still seemed a bit awestruck by the Strip. The Courier wasn't sure why. Compared to Remnant, nothing about it was particularly significant. The only edge it had was that it had more flashing lights. It was bright, dirty, and corrupt to the core. But Pyrrha saw only two of those things, and no doubt to her the first eclipsed the second.

"So, where are we going?" asked Pyrrha, as they walked towards the North Gate of the Strip.

The Courier realized that while they had decided on what they generally sought to accomplish, he had not told her any of the specifics regarding where they were going.

"First, I thought it would be a good idea to stop by at the Old Mormon Fort to check up on the freed slaves. Then, we can see about doing some more preparation for the journey South."

"Alright," said Pyrrha, "let's leave before we attract too much attention."

The effects of the Courier being in public on the Strip had started to be felt almost immediately upon their exiting the Lucky 38. The Courier himself was keen to avoid the uncomfortable attention. Despite Freeside being undoubtedly more dangerous, he was far more comfortable there than on the Strip. No one bothered anyone else in Freeside without a damn good reason.

Which was why, while approaching the Old Mormon Fort, he had been surprised to find himself being bothered.


	161. Chapter 161 - Nihil Novi Sub Sole

Chapter 161 - Nihil Novi Sub Sole

To say that the Courier had been "bothered," while technically accurate, was not remotely representative of how he actually felt. Being as pessimistic as he was, it was typical for him to be expecting the worst, especially in Freeside. While Freeside was not necessarily a particularly dangerous place for him, considering few things there were capable of doing serious harm to him, he was still attacked with a high enough frequency to put him on edge, especially now, with Pyrrha present.

The presence of the NCR should have helped deal with the problems of addicts and other criminals accosting anyone that they could get their hands on, but the Courier had no faith in that. Optimistic assumptions were something that was effectively lost to him.

However, reality was more optimistic than the Courier treated it.

"Courier Six."

The tone was easy going and familiar.

"Arcade," said the Courier, matching his tone, "I'm surprised you're still here."

The Courier found he was saying that a lot. He supposed he shouldn't have found it surprising that people were still in the same place they were only about a year earlier. He realized his frame of reference was probably skewed and that most people moved around far less frequently than he did. It was entirely possible that nothing particularly interesting could happen to someone in the span of a year. Other people had routines they lived in.

Since he had left the Vault, the Good Fight had prevented any opportunities Markus would have had to establish anything close to a routine. He was out here to solve problems after all and the only consistency with problems was their inconsistency. The closest he had gotten to living routinely was on Remnant, and even then, he was constantly working towards change. There was simply too much to do for him to do the same thing over and over again.

"And I'm surprised you're back," said Arcade, "I didn't quite believe it when Julie said you had shown up here after so long, but the fact that you showed up with an Exodus of freed slaves led credibility to that idea."  
"How are they by the way?"

"The slaves? Most of them have gone on their way by now. We're helping the rest to find somewhere to live, further away from the frontier. I think most of them have had their romantic image of it thoroughly crushed."

The Courier nodded, satisfied that the issue of slaves had arrived at a satisfactory conclusion. It was one less thing he had to worry about. Now, not only was the issue out of his hands, but he could put it out of his mind in good conscience. After the brief lapse in conversation, Arcade asked him a question.

"But really though, why has the "Legendary Courier Six" returned after so long? And what have you been doing all this time?"

At the words "Legendary Courier Six," said Courier fixed Arcade with the most unamused look he could muster. Of course, that only made it funnier to Arcade. Regardless, Markus answered his questions with the degree of evasiveness necessary to avoid having to mention Remnant.

It was not that he did not trust Arcade, or had any reason to conceal its existence from him, but rather that it was not something best discussed on the streets of Freeside, and something that required a decent bit of explaining to believe. So he simply elected to omit mentioning it for now.

"I'll answer your second question first. I went back to DC. Then, through the malfunction of some tech from the Big MT", Arcade gave a look of disapproval at the mention of that name, "I ended deep in Legion territory. There, I saw that a rather large force of the Legion had managed to coalesce. Therefore I headed here to inform the NCR."

"You didn't kill them all yourself?" asked Arcade.

"You know Oliver would have my head if I did."

Arcade sighed.

"Too true. That man's hunger for glory outpaces his good sense by miles."

"Which is why he's attacking as soon as possible."

"What? Oliver's attacking? I suppose hell has also frozen over," said Arcade, characteristically sardonically.

"If someone told me it had, I wouldn't be surprised anymore."

While the Courier knew Arcade probably hadn't understood his meaning, he nonetheless nodded.

"So who's this?" Arcade asked, jerking in Pyrrha's direction.

The Courier looked back at his partner. She was going to highly awkward lengths to avoid looking at Arcade. He was momentarily confused before he remembered the advice he had given her. Unfortunately, she was adhering to it a bit more strictly than was reasonable.

"That's Pyrrha Nikos. She's had a pretty sheltered life, and is having some difficulty adjusting to the Mojave."

Markus knew it was a weak explanation in that it didn't really explain anything. Fortunately, Arcade was too preoccupied with her name to question it too much.

"She doesn't look Greek," he said, half to himself, before continuing at normal volume, "Have you taken her to see Dr. Usanagi?"

The Courier shook his head.

"I'm prioritizing getting her home in one piece."

Arcade nodded. Fortunately he wasn't questioning that either.

"Are you going to be sticking around?" asked Arcade.

"Only for a few more days, then I'm heading South. I should be coming back after that."

"Alright then, I'll probably see you around," said Arcade as he headed into the Old Mormon Fort.

Which left Pyrrha and Markus standing in Freeside by themselves.

"He seemed...normal," said Pyrrha.

"What did you expect?" Markus asked.

"I expected…," she paused for a moment, "I expected him to be more like you."

"While on average things are worse here than on Remnant, there are a lot of normal people here."

"With so much death and suffering, I hadn't thought that normality could exist."

The Courier shrugged.

"For most people, life goes on as normal, regardless of how dangerous the world is to live in."

There was a lapse in the conversation after that as Pyrrha internalized that thought. However when next she spoke, the subject was only barely related.

"How do you know him?" asked Pyrrha.

"Arcade? I met him when I was helping the Followers out with some of their problems. He was interested in getting out into the world, and I asked him if he wanted to tag along."

"He's not the sort of person I expected you to be friends with."

The Courier snorted in amusement.

"You should have seen the others."


	162. Chapter 162 - Hécate II

Chapter 162 - Hécate II

The Courier's decision to avoid going through the Strip by taking the long way round was one he soon regretted. While it did save him the unwanted attention going through such a densely populated area gave him, the second bullets started flying the trade off became nowhere near worth it.

Of course, it was quite likely the Legion assassins would have found him anyway, the Frumentarii were quite persistent after all, but he couldn't help but feel that his decision at least played some part in the situation he had found himself in.

This group appeared to be unusually intelligent, as they had opened with gunfire, as opposed to charging at him yelling. To make matters worse, the ground was not exactly favorable either.

They had attacked over a short ridge on the left of the road, with only the glint of scopes and the flashes of muzzles visible. The stretch of road chosen for the attack was devoid of cover in almost all directions. The most available was the slight slope on the right side of the road where erosion had washed away a small amount of the soil. It was barely enough to cover someone when prone, but in this case, barely was enough.

He grabbed Pyrrha and pushed her as to the ground as gently as it was possible to do that sort of thing. While he didn't want to hurt her, hitting the ground a little harder than necessary was nothing compared to getting shot.

The two of them had been incredibly lucky that none of the bullets in the first volley had found their mark, though their impacts kicked up dust around their feet.

"Keep your head down!" he yelled over the gunfire before sprinting forward, looking for the nearest thing that remotely resembled cover.

He didn't have time to see how, or even whether, Pyrrha had reacted to the command. He couldn't stay out in the open if either of them wanted to survive this. As he had learned from their first encounter with the 80's, taking cover with Pyrrha was a bad idea. More than that, the cover was not the kind he could effectively fight from. While he could bear the risk of moving under fire, he needed cover, fast.

Despite the great lengths that the Lone Courier had gone to in order to ensure his continued ability to fight the Good Fight, there remained a multitude of things in the wastes that possessed the ability to end his life, and a lot of them were capable of doing so dangerously quickly. Among these were two weapons that were commonly carried by these Legion hit-squads: the thermic lance and the Anti-Materiel Rifle. Both of these had the ability to kill him even in his Elite Riot Gear and had good odds of doing severe damage even to power armor.

The Courier couldn't be sure whether Frumentarii always used these weapons when hunting down their targets or if they had been adopted specifically because he had proven so hard to kill. As the bullets kept flying, he released it didn't make a difference at the moment.

The first cover he had was simply that of his own suppressive fire. Even while running at full tilt, the Courier was capable of laying down fire sufficiently accurate to suppress a target. While it was nowhere near accurate enough to hit, it was close enough to present enough of a threat to force the enemy to keep their heads down. Nevertheless, inaccurate fire from the ZM LR-300 was not remotely enough to stop the steady stream of bullets headed his direction.

The second cover he found was a rusted to bits car that was sitting in a ditch. It looked as though its power source had exploded decades ago. The last aspect was a stroke of good luck. The Lone Wanderer had a very strict policy of not sheltering behind anything that had even the possibility of exploding. Had its power source been intact, even lacking other cover, he would not have used it. While the Courier had almost supernaturally good luck, but still didn't trust it. It only took being unlucky once to be dead.

The steel frame provided him with solid protection against low caliber gunfire (as the rounds bouncing of the car's body could attest to) and enough concealment that the .50 cal rounds that were capable of piercing the metal couldn't pinpoint his exact position.

However, he was not in a good tactical position. While momentarily he was relatively safe from the bullets cracking through the air around him and kicking up dust behind him, he was pinned down in a very poor firing position. It was of course tempting simply to switch to power armor, but the he knew that the second he equipped it he was going to get hit by a .50 cal. While it was unlikely to kill him, it would certainly hurt and might damage some of the less durable systems in the armor. Alternatives that didn't involve him taking a bullet were much preferred.

The fact that he had not yet been charged was unusual and demonstrated a much more measured and conservative approach to combat than was usually exercised by the Legion. However he knew it was coming. If he stayed pinned down here for too long, he would not have the opportunity to gun down the Legionaries as they raced towards him. Thermic lances needed to get close to kill him. He couldn't allow them that opportunity.

At this point, the ideal response would be to throw a grenade into the middle of the enemy's firing position. He could tell that they were grouped closely together. They had little reason to spread out after all, they only had one target. Besides, even those uninjured by the blast would disoriented enough to allow him to advance further on their position. The only problem was that the ridge from which the fire was coming from was about seventy meters away. While the Courier could _probably_ pull it off, this was not the sort of thing best left to chance. Which was why he materialized his 25mm Grenade Anti-Personnel Weapon and fired three rounds at the source of the muzzle flashes before sprinting forward.

He could feel the vibration in his bones as the explosive detonated. Running towards explosions was something that always felt utterly wrong to him, but here he was, doing so anyway. He felt something hit the right of his abdomen. The pain was dull, so whatever it was, bullet or shrapnel, it hadn't penetrated. The extended magazine meant that the Courier could have laid down far more explosive firepower had he wished, but he was now close enough that he no longer considered that a good idea.

The Courier had used the advantage gained by the explosions to the ridge and far enough up it to prevent the Frumentarii from getting a visual on him without exposing a large amount of their body. He switched to the Blackhawk and waited for the charge.


	163. Chapter 163 - Article XII

Chapter 163 - Article XII

Laying face down in the sand, Pyrrha was none too happy about the situation. It was not the bullets splitting the air above her or impacting the sand around her too close for comfort that were the cause of her unhappiness (though they were the cause of the fear that kept doing as she was told.)

Much to her shame, despite her indignation, the overriding factor governing her actions was fear.

Of course, this was not the first time Pyrrha had been shot at. It was not even the first time she had been shot at without Aura. But the sensation of being inches away from death was not one that a person easily got used to. Pyrrha wondered if she ever would. So, there she was, humiliatingly paralyzed both by fear and her more pragmatic side.

Part of it was the fact that she didn't know what she _could_ do in this situation. Apart from the fear that moving even an inch from her position would likely mean death, she didn't know what she would do from there. Seek a better position? She didn't know of any, and even lifting her head to look was in and of itself a risk. Even hypothetically, if she managed to find a better position, she had no clue what she would do from there. Would she try to shoot people? _Could_ she shoot people? While she had before, the experience had hardly been an enjoyable one. As well, it had not been the result of any decision she had made, rather a reaction, based almost entirely on fear.

She grimaced into the rough sand her face was pressed against. Fear. She was supposed to be above it. Of course, she knew all the standard "fear is natural" and "everyone has fear" speeches, but universally, they emphasized rising above fear rather than acting out of it. All of her actions in deadly combat with humans thus far had been dictated almost entirely out of fear. Even when she had been forced to take action, it was out of primal fear of death. Which brought her back to the question. Could she kill again?

This time, it would not be entirely out of fear, or even purely out of necessity. For her to kill, she would need to actively make the decision that she wanted to. Not just jumpily pull a trigger in an instant, but actually take aim, look at someone, and make that decision.

However, the impact of another volley of rounds in front of her, too close for comfort reminded her that at present, the discussion was entirely theoretical. Even if she had wanted to, she was in no position to shoot anyone without being shot herself.

Paying more attention now, Pyrrha could tell that the majority of the rounds passing by her and impacting around her were not meant for her at all, but rather for her more lethal partner. Some of course, were close enough and consistent enough that they were clearly intended to ensure she stayed where she was.

That was another aspect of this that Pyrrha didn't like. She was forced into doing exactly what _they_ wanted. Which was nothing. It went against her grain to do exactly what the enemy wanted. From past experience, it was the quickest way to lose.

She briefly considered risking a run for it and hoping the body armor she was wearing could take the hit but the booming of the guns reminded her that the Legion had guns powerful enough to make what she was wearing a non-factor. While she would never admit it, she was now glad to be wearing it. If she got unlucky, it was one more barrier between her and death. At this point, she would take as many of those as she could get. As Pyrrha lay there helplessly face down in the sand, all she could do was pray not to get hit and Markus would finish this quickly.

* * *

As usual, the Courier heard the Legion before he saw them. Even the Frumentarii, the supposedly cunning assassins couldn't refrain from a battle cry as they charged him over the ridge. While it was true that in this case it would have made very little difference whether or not they gave it away as VATS and the Blackhawk had made short work of them, it would have given anyone with a reaction time even magnitudes worse than that of an ordinary human enough to prepare to gun them down as they appeared.

While ordinarily when receiving a charge, the Courier preferred a weapon with a higher capacity than a revolver, he made an exception for Frumentarii. They traveled in small enough groups that getting swarmed by sheer numbers was not really a concern. The main danger lay in their specialized weapons and in this case if they got close enough. So he favored stopping power over capacity. The .44 magnum fit the bill nicely. It only took one shot, torso or head, to take down each of the Frumentarii. Six of them, only one with a thermic lance.

With them all lying dead or dying on the steep slope of the ridge, the Courier could now move on to his next concern: the firearm equipped assassins. These were more dangerous on account of the fact that the .50 cal could kill him if given the opportunity. Fortunately the terrain was steep enough that he could keep them suppressed better than they could return fire at him. However assaulting them directly was not an attractive idea. While the grenade fire had blasted some small craters into the ridge, by and large it was sheer enough that upon reaching the top he would be well and truly exposed to fire. If he got unlucky enough that the one armed with a .50 cal was positioned well or had a decent reaction time, he was in a bad position.

However, going back to an earlier concept, the Courier devised a pretty simple plan, one that would avoid him having to take a bullet designed to down aircraft.

Scrambling up the side of the ridge, the Courier closed half the distance before lobbing a grenade over the edge of it.

He worried he might have overshot it. He had been careful to make sure it landed on the right side of the edge. Having it roll back to him would not be fun experience. However some panicked latin and a short explosion later, the Courier emerged over the top of the ridge to eliminate the remaining Legionaries that had remained standing after suffering the blast of the grenade. He couldn't immediately see the .50 cal, which was cause for alarm. However, the scene was a messy one in terms both of bloodied bodies and scattered munitions.

The Anti-Materiel rifle was found by the Courier by means of almost tripping over it. Either as a result of the blast or simply where the shooter had been positioned, the Courier had come up right on top of it.

Surveying the carnage, the Courier saw that none of the Legion remained as a threat. Like the ones on the slope below, all were dead or dying. In situations like this, it was often hard to tell which was which. The human body could take truly grotesque amounts of punishment. The Courier methodically and clinically put a round from the Blackhawk through each of the Frumentarii's heads. They may have deserved to die torturous deaths, but the Courier didn't like to think of what he was doing as anything as presumptuous as administering justice. Only doing what was necessary. How true that was, what with his devotion to fighting the Good Fight, was debatable. However the Courier did not expect consistency from many things, least of all himself.

He started walking back down the ridge, repeating the same process. Now with the din of battle silenced, and replaced with the tortured moans of the dying, the shots sounded eerie. This effect increased with each of them as more of the sounds stopped. While bodies still made noises, it was typically a little while after death, once decomposition started, and was certainly much quieter than the dying.

With the last of the Legion dead, the Courier reloaded the Blackhawk, and looked up across the distance to meet eyes with Pyrrha.


	164. Chapter 164 - It's All Downhill

Chapter 164 - It's All Downhill From Here

There was a long silence after the shooting had stopped. The two looked at one another, neither breaking eye contact. Well, eye contact was not technically accurate. While Markus could see Pyrrha's eyes, all she saw were a pair of lenses. By coincidence, both of them broke eye contact to look at the same object at the same time: the broken body of the last Frumentarius to be killed.

It was not a pretty sight. The shrapnel from the salvo of 25mm grenades had mortally wounded him all across his body. He had been in just the right spot to receive a horrific amount of shrapnel but not be killed by the pressure. However, despite being mortal, it was not the shrapnel that had ended his life. No, the fatal wound was the .44 magnum round that destroyed much of his head.

After a few seconds, both of them looked back up to meet the other's gaze. Pyrrha had looked up first, with Markus following shortly after.

He started to walk towards her. The silence continued. He stopped a little ways from her. The silence ended abruptly.

"You didn't need to kill them," she said, sounding more matter of fact about it than she had intended, or understood.

There were a few seconds of silence before Markus responded.

"No. I didn't,"

The words hung in the air, before causing a visceral emotional response.

Pyrrha tried to speak, to voice her knee-jerk reaction to that sentiment, but was cut off.

"But it was better than any of the alternatives."

That qualifier was enough to give Pyrrha pause regarding her initial intentions for her outraged outburst. Now, she was still sort of angry, but also confused.

"How could killing them be better than the alternatives?"

She was desperately looking for some rational explanation for this that did not leave her best friend, partner, leader, and only hope for survival some kind of immoral psychopath. Putting high caliber bullets through the heads of people that posed no threat to anyone was pretty damning.

"They're Legion Pyrrha, and dedicated enough to still be trying to kill me even after most of it had collapsed-" but Markus got no further before he was cut off by Pyrrha.

"That doesn't mean you have to blow their heads off while they're lying on the ground helpless!"

It was a simple and fundamental principle to Pyrrha that two wrongs didn't make a right. Someone being willing to kill you doesn't give you a license to kill them, especially when they're helpless. It would have been absolutely immoral for them to kill the White Fang, despite the fact they fought with the intention to kill them.

"There are no alternatives. The Legion will commit suicide to avoid capture. If they survive, they'll no doubt hunt me down again. If they don't, they'll die an agonizing death of slowing bleeding out. If they're unlucky, they may die of thirst or be eaten alive by scavengers. While many of them probably deserve that for what they've done, that's not my judgement to make. At the very least I can give them the mercy of a quick death, if not a clean one."

As was becoming usual, Pyrrha's heart and mind disagreed. Despite the whole thing feeling indescribably _wrong_ , she could not find any alternatives. While she reasonably could not come to any other conclusion, her emotions still rebelled against it.

She still felt that if it came down to it, she could not have made the same decision, even if she had reasoned that it was the right one. She simply couldn't picture herself delivering such violent and gory ends to people as they lay bleeding on the ground, even her enemies. Even people would would kill her if they had the chance. Even people who deserved it. Even if it was a mercy.

The question she was now asking herself was whether or not this made her a bad person? She knew what the right thing was to do, but she also knew that she wouldn't be able to do it. Pyrrha knew that she would leave someone to die a horrible death rather than have to directly take responsibility and deal death in a personal manner through a mercy killing. Did that make her a bad person? Who was she if she couldn't do what's right?

She was also becoming very worried about the fact that what she knew to be right and what she felt was right were frequently two different things. She suspected that the reason for this was that quite frequently, the right thing to do involved hurting someone and often killing someone. Both of those things were something she was not emotionally equipped to do, no matter the rational justification. Therefore no matter what else, she would feel bad about her actions, either as a result of inaction, or because she had hurt people in order to accomplish something.

One of the things she missed most about Remnant was knowing what was right and what was wrong. Since arriving here, she felt all the certainty she had possessed about right and wrong had fled. Every few days, she was faced with a situation that forced her to question everything and come to not just uncomfortable, but downright painful conclusions that made her feel bad about herself, not only in terms of capabilities, but in terms of morals.

While she believed her destiny was to be a hero, someone that helped others and made a difference in the world, right now she was encountering more trouble than she was equipped to handle simply in the task of being a good person.

So, it was no surprise that all she could muster in terms of a response was a dejected nod. However, for once Markus had something almost uncharacteristically optimistic to say.

"At least, now you've seen all the worst of this whole thing."

Pyrrha couldn't quite believe it. She had thought so many times before that it couldn't possibly get any worse and been proven wrong that she just assumed that there was always worse at this point. However, now there seemed to be a ray of hope; she wouldn't have to deal with anything worse than what she had already encountered. That wasn't saying much considering what she _had_ encountered, but she had survived the worst. Barely, but she had made it. It looked like she was making it home after all.

"The worst is over?"

The optimism and battered hope was deliberately constrained in her voice, as if she didn't quite trust it.

"It certainly seems to be that way," said Markus, looking at the horizon, "It's all downhill from here."


	165. Chapter 165 - Black Armor

Chapter 165 - Black Armor

While the imposing visage of Black Mountain stood upon the horizon, the topic of conversation was something more relevant and less ominous.

"So how are you planning on getting us back ho-" Pyrrha stopped herself, "-back to Remnant."

The Courier gave no indication he had noticed her mispeak.

"We need to repair the device that brought us here. Or preferably get a new one."

He hadn't given Pyrrha any information she didn't already know. There was no reason to hide anything regarding it, nor to omit the specifics, but the Courier wasn't paying quite enough attention to adequately play the game of small talk.

Pyrrha however was undeterred from her pursuit of information by her partner's inexplicable unwillingness to volunteer it and simply asked a more direct and specific question.

"What do we need to do to accomplish that?"

To this, the Courier replied with a still vague but accurate description of the plan for getting Pyrrha back to Remnant.

"Hopefully, we won't need to do anything other than to take it back to its creators."

In response, Pyrrha asked an even more specific question.  
"Where is that?"

"In an old research facility from before the war called the Big MT. It's quite a ways South of here."

"And who are its creators?"

The Courier was starting to understand that Pyrrha wasn't looking for practical information in the sense of what was relevant to what she needed to do, but was rather asking almost entirely out of curiosity. With that in mind, he began to give more detailed answers. He was not necessarily averse to giving her information, he simply normally avoided giving superfluous information in answer to questions.

"A group of Pre-War scientists called 'the Think Tank,'" said Markus.

"Didn't you say the war was a long time ago? Shouldn't they be dead by now?" asked Pyrrha a bit hesitantly. She sounded as though she wasn't quite sure if what she was saying was right, and didn't want to make a fool of herself by remembering it wrong.

"Well, yes they should," said the Courir, "However they didn't see it that way and had their brains transferred into machines at some point. They've become a borderline non-functionally insane. And this is on top of them being entirely amoral even before all of this went ahead."

There was a brief silence between them as the walked which only ended after Markus fixed Pyrrha with a questioning look. Finally, she spit out her question.

"Why have you left them alive and you know, free?"

Pyrrha was clearly uncomfortable with the question, and how she had phrased it. Boiled down, it basically was just "why haven't you killed them then" but in more words. Fortunately for the two of them, the situation was in reality much closer to arrangement that satisfied Pyrrha's conscience than she suspected. Now at least, she was in a position to witness some of the Lone Courier's skill at keeping the peace through methods other than killing all who threatened it.

"Well, they're not exactly free. They've been damaged enough to not be able to understand the idea of really applying any of the scientific experiments they do to the world because they're not really aware of the outside world. As for the first part of the question, it's because they can do more for humanity alive than dead. Immoral and largely crazy as they might be, they were the greatest minds of their time. If controlled, great things could be accomplished. What with the state of the world, I think it's evident great things need to be done."

"Aren't you worried they might break free?"  
"Not really. They're all cowards, and the robots they've put themselves in are hardly durable enough to constitute a threat to any of the creatures in the Wasteland. More dangerous would be what they might unleash on the outside world. But considering their isolated location and inability to focus long enough on a project to get it out of prototype phase without severe prodding, it's not much more of risk than anything else in the wastes."

It was then that the Courier saw the the indicators that they had arrived at their destination. Moving a short ways off the road, he turned a corner, and knocked on the door.

While strictly speaking knocking on the door of the Ranger safehouse was unnecessary given he had the key, opening a door to a hiding place frequented by people with guns was not the healthiest of choices. Hearing no response, the Courier unlocked and opened the door.

A quick survey of the location told him that Gomez was long gone, probably redeployed to somewhere more important after Hoover Dam. That, at least, had changed. Now however, he walked through the small space with Pyrrha in tow, searching for what he had come all this way for.

"Hmm," said the Courier as he saw the NCR Ranger combat armor laying on a shelf.

It was yet another thing he had forgotten he had left in these places. He had been under the impression that he had kept everything in the Sink. It was ironic that he could remember vast amounts of technical information without difficulty but struggled remembering where he put his stuff. Indeed, perhaps thankfully, his personal memories were quite inferior to his ability to memorize useful information. Considering the amount of things he saw and wanted to forget, not having the best memory was hardly such a curse. However, the worst experiences were always the most memorable. Even if he forgot everything else, he had no doubt he would remember them, despite his best intentions.

The frag mines that filled one of the lockers however, were not something he had forgotten. In fact, they were one of the main reasons he had come here. While it may have seemed to superfluous to insist on having mines in his arsenal, having proximity activated explosives was something that greatly increased his tactical options in virtually any situation. The ability to deny area or hinder pursuit was something that's value was hard to overstate. The Courier simply was not comfortable operating under armed.

The Courier materialized both the armor and the mines. Pyrrha needed to get some of proper armor of her own and considering the circumstances, it was probably best if he rigged it up. The Ranger combat armor would serve as nice basis for it. He hoped she didn't insist on it being red and glossy.


	166. Chapter 166 - Black Mountain

Chapter 166 - Black Mountain

"Is that it?" asked Pyrrha.

"That's it," said the Courier.

"Seems like a lot of danger to risk just for that."

Markus looked at her. Despite the fact his face was obscured, he was entirely capable of communicating his meaning through looks.

"I _was_ against you coming."

In hindsight, it _had_ been a bad idea. Had he gotten unlucky, Pyrrha would have died. That sort of risk was unacceptable when unnecessary. But, despite the fact he was responsible for her well being, she did in the end have agency. Besides, getting used to getting shot at was helpful. Just so long as you didn't get hit.

"I'm not complaining," Pyrrha hastened to mention, "I knew the risks. It's just I didn't think you took risks without a good reason."

"That's not a high bar," the Courier remarked drily as he moved towards the exit, Pyrrha following.

"So what now?" asked Pyrrha as they emerged out of the hideout.

"Now we,-" the Courier looked to the left and up.

"Actually, I have an idea. See that?" He pointed towards where he was looking and Pyrrha nodded in understanding.

"At the top of Black Mountain is an old broadcasting station. It's almost certainly powerful enough to reach the Big MT. Hopefully I can figure out a way to send a message to the Think Tank and prevent us from having to take another long walk."

He looked to Pyrrha to see how she felt about the development. Instead, he received an unexpected line of questioning.

"What's a broadcasting station? Is it like the CCT system?"

He should have expected this. The technological differences between here and Remnant were something he often about. He mainly thought about the cultural. The specifics of how things functioned differently on a technical level seemed irrelevant after it had all been blown to hell. But, it was worth explaining, at least to the degree that would be useful to Pyrrha. No sense in trying to explain the physics behind it.

"Sort of, in the sense that it fulfills the same purpose. But as you may have guessed, it works differently."

Pyrrha nodded thoughtfully. The Courier half expected her to ask for more details.

"Isn't it dangerous to talk to the Think Tank about the outside world?"

"Not particularly. As far as I've let them know, it's an irradiated hellhole with nothing resembling anything interesting for them. Knowing that I'm stuck here is hardly the sort of thing that would pique their curiosity."

Pyrrha nodded in once again, this time in understanding.

"Well," said Markus, "we'd better get going. Trying to get the Scroll functions to interact with the broadcasting system might take awhile."

With that, they set off towards the rather ominous topographical feature in front of them.

A little ways up the mountain, the Courier recognized what was once Neil's shack. It stood empty and abandoned, but appeared to be undamaged. He hoped the Neil had simply returned to Jacobstown after mutants had stopped coming to the mountain. What with Tabitha and Rhonda having long since disappeared into the East and the broadcast being shut down, the Super mutants would have stopped arriving, giving Neil cause to leave.

This appeared to be one of the rare instances where the most optimistic option was also the most likely. Which did genuinely please the Courier as he did like Neil and respected him and Marcus. More than that, what they were trying to do was critical to ensuring the wider world was aware that there were a not insignificant amount of super mutants that had remained sane. The mutants suffered a similar but worse situation to the ghouls in that the majority of them were irreconcilably insane. This essentially meant that the average wastelander was quite reasonably afraid of either and many less reasonably were willing to shoot them on sight.

Super mutants of course were worse off than the ghouls in that it was a far greater proportion of them that wanted to kill all humans than the ghouls. The Lone Wanderer hadn't known a super mutant could be sane until he had met Fawkes. The idea of social movements even existing was to him one of the clearer signs of humanity's recovery from the apocalypse. It demonstrated a level of altruism and social awareness that necessitated a level of security of basic necessities that could only be supplied by a recovered society. However, the Courier's almost uncharacteristic optimism was quickly dampened the moment he encountered an obstacle in their path.

"Oh, shit," he said bitterly.

"What is it?" asked Pyrrha, a note of trepidation in her voice.

"The area ahead has been heavily irradiated."

"Haven't you been here before?"

"I have, but I don't remember much of what happened here."

And he didn't want to think about why that was either. In any case, that was irrelevant at this point. He let out a heavy sigh.

"I guess I'll just come back here alone at some point."

"Why?"

A strange question. That should have been obvious.

"You can't go through an area this heavily irradiated. You need to constantly take Rad-X to not suffer radiation poisoning just normally."

"There no way to protect someone from radiation?"

"Either power armor or a specially designed suit. Neither of which is really a viable option at this point."

"I could just wait here," offered Pyrrha.

"No. Leaving you alone is a terrible idea. You've already nearly died countless times with me present, leaving you out in the wastes by yourself is just asking for trouble."

"I'm not helpless you know. I _can_ defend myself."

"If someone came right now and tried to kill you, what would you do?"

"You know what I would do. What I have done."

Pyrrha's tone turned somber at the last part of the sentence. The subject matter was sufficiently grave for it to be appropriate. It gave the Courier pause. Perhaps she was genuinely willing to defend herself with lethal force.

He couldn't decide whether or not that was a good or bad thing.

"And if another group of Legion assassins comes?"

"There's not after me, are they?"

There was silence after that statement. There was something of a major debate going on in the Courier between his hyper cautious side and his more reasonable side. But finally, the more rational side won out. As usual he would play the odds. As far as he could see, everything stood in his favor. But doubt nevertheless remained.

"Alright. But just lie somewhere where you won't be seen and have a clear view of the path to your position. I'll try to make this quick."

Pyrrha nodded resolutely even as Markus was filled with a sense of unease at what he had just agreed to. But, it was too late now. All he could do was switch to his power armor and pray he wouldn't end up regretting this decision for the rest of his life.


	167. Chapter 167 - O Fortuna

Chapter 167 - O Fortuna

* * *

While it hadn't taken the Courier any large amount of time to reach the broadcasting station itself, before even attempting to rig a message to the Think Tank he knew that this wasn't going to be quick.

While he had little doubt in his ability to get in done fast enough that Pyrrha would not have problems assuming all went well, it would still take far longer than he would have liked.

It was inherent that it would take a while in order to get both the Scroll and the broadcasting station to do two things they were not designed to do. On the bright side, the issue of using Remnant technology with Earth systems had largely been resolved when he had integrated a Scroll into his Pip-Boy. However the issue of sending a Scroll message by means of radio waves was one that needed to be resolved, though he didn't foresee any insurmountable obstacles. While the systems weren't designed to work with one another, they functioned in a basic enough sense that both could be repurposed in order to transmit a message.

The way he justified risking Pyrrha's safety was through the logic that if this was successful, he would manage to avert a long and likely quite dangerous walk all the way to the Big MT. Besides, no one had any reason to come to Black Mountain anymore, and he did have sufficient faith in Pyrrha's ability and willingness to defend herself if it came down to it. He really hoped it wouldn't though. By now, Markus was very keen on getting Pyrrha back to Remnant as soon as possible, for her sake.

As far as he was concerned, if Pyrrha stayed here for much longer, there was no good outcome for her. Either it would destroy her, or she would adapt to it. While the latter was obviously preferable, it was still something to be avoided, while not at all costs, at high cost certainly. Acclimation to constant cruelty and death was not a good thing, something that the Lone Courier was self aware enough to attest to.

Still, as he set to work, he consoled himself with the thought that his luck just needed to hold out for this one instance in order for this whole ordeal to be over. While this entire experience was of course far worse for Pyrrha, simply being a party to it was bad enough, especially considering he was responsible for Pyrrha's well being. Once Pyrrha was back to the safety of Remnant, the very immediate burden of her safety would be relieved. As long as she didn't go throwing her life away, she would have little to fear. Of course, this was all reliant on him being lucky enough for Pyrrha not to be bothered while he figured out how to do this.

Courier Six was a lucky man. Almost supernaturally so.  
But he was not that lucky.

* * *

Pyrrha had taken up a position, as Markus had advised, overlooking the path up to the mountain. This sort of thing was not something that she was particularly skilled or experienced in. There wasn't much cause for a Huntsman to really be stealthy, and certainly not in a manner like this. They were trained for open confrontations with Grimm, either in hordes of them or against particularly old ones. That and duels were the primary methods of training. But Pyrrha had figured out some of the more sensible basics to what she was currently doing. She had ensured that she would not be silhouetted against the horizon by utilizing a ridge and made sure to keep the scope of the M14 covered to prevent its glint from giving away her location. She also knew not to move.

The last was naturally the most difficult. While she understood the theory behind why not moving at all was critical in remaining unseen, the applying that theory was difficult. A lot of it was simply in her head. It wasn't usual or natural for a person not to move for extended periods. Under ordinary circumstances, once a position became uncomfortable one simply obeyed the subconscious impulse to adjust without thought. Not doing that was something that took considerable mental effort in that it forced one to constantly pay attention.

So, time dragged on as Pyrrha lay there, doing nothing but ensuring she didn't involuntarily move and hoping she continued to see nothing. It was impossible to tell exactly how much time had passed. She had no actual means of telling, and checking the sun would mean moving. She had no doubt that it was less time than it felt like and even then probably less than she thought and so gave up trying. It wouldn't help her.

The Dragonskin armor, now that she was wearing it properly made the experience much more bearable than it otherwise would have been. The armor protected her from the craggy and uneven ground. While she was still uncomfortable, it protected her from the worst of it.

While she did have sight of the path, the winding nature of it ensured she would have little warning of anyone coming up. While this naturally was far from ideal, there was not really any alternative. There was always the possibility that someone might attempt to summit the mountain by way other than that of the road, however Pyrrha simply didn't have the ability to address that. She would simply have to risk it and hope.

Her biggest fear was if a group started searching the area. An individual, if it came down to it, she had faith in her ability to defeat. But if she was outnumbered, she was at an effectively insurmountable disadvantage. Ironic, how on Remnant none of this would remotely have been an issue. She simply could have waited and met whatever threat head-on. Actually, on Remnant there would have been nothing to prevent her from reaching the top of the mountain herself. Instead, she was waiting here, willing herself not to move for what seemed like hours.

In fact, it likely was hours. After a while of laying there, she had determined a means of telling the passage of time. The lengthening of shadows was her indicator for how long she had been there. All she _could_ do was watch the shadows, watch the path, above all, not move.

Watching the area where the path twisted out of sight was a slightly nerve wracking endeavor. She always feared that she might see something, anything that might indicate she would be forced to either cower or fight. Neither a course of action she wanted to follow, and neither providing likely prospects for survival. She hoped that this was nothing more than the monotony manifesting itself as paranoia.

As usual, her anxiety proved to be well justified.

As she gazed at the edge of her line of sight, Pyrrha saw something that while she had not seen it often, was distinctive enough to be recognizable.

Power armor.


	168. Chapter 168 - Big Mountain Radio

Chapter 168 - Big Mountain Radio

The Courier was not happy. Despite his best efforts, the Scroll simply seemed to have no intention of cooperating with the broadcasting station. He simply couldn't figure out what the Scroll sent to the CCTS tower. The hardware didn't give any clues, nor was the software designed to be forthcoming. It wasn't the sort of information that was mentioned off-hand in the "help" section. Even once that was solved, he would need to figure out how to send that information by way of radio which would be a task of at least equal magnitude. At this rate, he would have to call this off and return later, regardless of Pyrrha's protestations.

There was of course, always the option of broadcasting the message conventionally. The downside of this was that the broadcasting station was fundamentally a radio station. Any message sent normally would be in the form of a radio broadcast. The problem with this was obvious. Sending out a cryptic or just vague message into the wastes was certain to draw unwanted attention, both on himself, which he didn't particularly mind, and more importantly onto the Think Tank. While the most likely result of anyone happening across the Big MT was that they ended up lobotomized (despite the Courier's best efforts to persuade the Brains that it was better to keep intruders whole enough to answer questions) there was a real danger of someone both powerful and nefarious enough to seize and utilize the technology kept there. Equally dangerous was that the arrival of visitors from the outside might pique the curiosity of the Brains, leading to them being released in some form or another onto the hapless wastes.

So, the Courier found that the only viable option he had was to attempt to contact the Think Tank through his usual methods, but using the broadcasting station to actually deliver the message. Considering this was an endeavor never before attempted by mankind, the Courier was making exceptional progress. But still, it was not enough. Not when he was having to leave Pyrrha in the middle of nowhere by herself.

Part of the problem was that he didn't fully understand the way the modification that the Think Tank had added to his Pip-Boy or how exactly it had worked to send them messages. Given that it no longer worked, it was most likely used the Transportalponder as a vector. The technical workings of either of those were things not readily apparent nor easily explained. And the Think Tank was terrible at explaining things. The addition of Big MT technology added another factor to the already unprecedented issue of having to force Earth and Remnant tech to play nice. The Courier also had to contend with a device designed by a team of insane geniuses.

Eventually however, a breakthrough was made. The Courier had come to the conclusion that sending a message to the Think Tank could be achieved while totally ignoring the modification they had attached to his Pip-Boy. As far as he could tell, it didn't have any function other than to interface with Transportalponder wirelessly, something he still didn't know how they had accomplished.

The second breakthrough was more of a stab in the dark at the most optimistic and easiest solution that the Courier had previously disregarded simply because it was simple. He fooled the Scroll functions into believing that the broadcasting station was a CCTS network. The reason he had been so surprised that it had actually worked was that the Scroll seemed to have no problems sending the message through radio, when there had been no indications that the CCT functioned through even a similar means.

But nevertheless, it had worked. And that was what was important. If there was one lesson he had learned from Remnant, it was that the fact that things worked was far more important than how they did. Right now, he just considered himself lucky that he as able to contact the Think Tank.

He intentionally left the details about why he was contacting them as vague and deceptive as possible. He didn't trust them in the slightest. They didn't seem at all surprised by him contacting them or really seem to notice that he had gone an unusually long amount of time between contacting them. In any case, he quickly managed to cajole them into sending a heavily armed eyebot with a Transportalponder to the Mojave Drive-In. With that settled, the Courier felt an immense sense of relief.

Finally, it was all over. This whole ordeal was nearly done. He could not iterate how relieved he was that he was going to be able to get Pyrrha back to where she belonged. This had been one of the most stressful periods of his life, and certainly the longest for the amount of stress he was under. It was something of a strange sentiment, especially when considering the odds he had gone up against and the stakes he had played for, but it was true. The task of getting one person out of the Mojave alive had been more taxing than saving it from the Legion. The Courier supposed it was just because he had long ago come to terms with his own death. The prospect of dying was ungracefully shunted to the back of his list of concerns. The truth was that unlike the moral responsibility for action he felt towards saving humanity, he felt and personal responsibility to ensure Pyrrha's survival and well being.

On a more positive note, this entire undertaking had proved far more productive than he had hoped. The danger to Pyrrha had been drastically reduced within a few short hours of low risk action. Now, all he needed to do was keep her safe until the eyebot arrived. More immediately however, he needed to go and retrieve her from wherever she had decided to hide herself away while he had gone to send the message.

The Lone Courier reequipped his power armor having taken it off once starting to tinker with delicate electronics. However, he had scarcely gotten a few steps outside of the irradiated area before he was stopped in his tracks.

There, standing in front of him, were four people. One was Pyrrha. Two were wearing T-51b power armor. One wore some very familiar Scribe's robes.


	169. Chapter 169 - It's Letting Go

Chapter 169 - It's Letting Go

"Courier Six," said Veronica warmly but somehow with a note of sarcasm in the use of the title.

"Veronica," said the Courier, switching out of his power armor, but with a much more forced tone of friendliness.

It was not that he was unhappy to see Veronica, in fact, it was quite nice to see that she was still alive. However, at this point any news was likely to be bad news. He really wanted to get Pyrrha out of here as soon as he possibly could.

"Why are you here?"

The Courier's question was curt, and borderline unfriendly in tone.

"The Brotherhood has an interest in Pre-War technology. Black Mountain has a broadcasting station filled with the stuff," said Veronica lightly.

He had forgotten how much she enjoyed doing this sort of thing. However he had also spent enough time with Veronica to be able to head off most of her banter. While Veronica was one of the few people that Markus could converse genuinely with, there was

"If that was really the case, you would have come here far earlier. I'm not buying that you, of all people happened to come up here, just when I happened to be here. We both know I'm not that lucky. _I_ think you were looking for me."

The last sentence was said in what could best be described as a playfully accusative tone. Veronica had always enjoyed this sort of banter due to the highly unemotional mask he was wearing when he met her. Whether it had been an attempt to wear down the mask or if she just thought messing with him was funny, he still wasn't sure of. In anycase, he very quickly came to the conclusion that his best bet to avoid her traps was to respond with equal wit. This had led to an eventual erosion of his total dissociation from humanity to a what would be one of the normal, human relationships he had.

"Me? Looking for you? _Someone_ has a very high opinion of himself."

After the Courier leveled what could only be described as a withering look at Veronica she finally decided to give him the more serious answer.

"No one's heard anything about you for nearly a year. And there were some… worrying rumors coming in from the East Coast Chapter. Word spreads pretty quickly when a Legion hitsquad winds up dead. It normally means you're around."

The Courier noticed that the two Paladins that had accompanied Veronica had wandered off a little ways, not far off, but out of earshot, realizing the conversation didn't involve them.

"I guess I should start disposing of the bodies," he said sardonically.

"It's not like you have to worry about anyone trying to track you down after having killed a whole group of Legion assassins."

That one was too easy for the Courier to resist.

"You did."

"You don't exactly have to worry about me tracking you down."

"Why is she here?" said the Courier, indicating in Pyrrha's direction who had been standing there increasingly awkwardly.

"She's here because she says she knows you. Which means that really, that's supposed to be my line. So why is the Courier traveling with an attractive young girl?" said Veronica with her typical propensity for attempting to embarrass him with innuendo.

While the Courier didn't miss a beat, he also didn't fail to notice Pyrrha turning bright red.

"Isn't that what everyone said about you?"

Veronica had taken a sort of sadistic pleasure in doing her best to utilize the assumptions people had made about the two of them when they were traveling together in order to embarrass him. He believed she had at one point described him at that point as "hilariously serious."  
"So you're saying I'm attractive?"

"You'd get insulted otherwise."

"True, I desperately need outside affirmation to stave off my crippling self doubt."

Markus wasn't entirely sure how much she was joking, but then again, he rarely was. Though, he knew Veronica well enough that it was not as much a joke as he would have liked. The Courier knew all too well the issues that she masked with her humor. While it wasn't a permanent solution to the issues, it was certainly a healthier method of coping than his own. Surprisingly, ignoring the problem was worse than trying to solve it.

"Seriously though, who is she and why is she here?"

"I'll be honest Veronica, you wouldn't believe me if I told you. Suffice to say, she's from far enough away that this whole wasteland thing is a bit much for her and I'm trying to get her back to where she came from, which I why I was up there."

"Do you not trust me or something?"

"I'll tell you later if you want, but I'll need to prove it to you before you'll believe me."

"Fine then, keep your secrets."

"I always do… Actually, speaking of secrets,"

"What is it?" said Veronica with a unique level of excitement.

"I have a message for you."

"Of course the Courier has a message."

"I wouldn't be much of a Courier otherwise," Markus then became deadly serious, "Before I tell you, I need to clarify that I was under strict orders not to tell you this before now."

"Just tell me already!" Veronica was already beginning the slide from excitement to impatience.

"Christine Royce is in the Sierra Madre."

There was a sort of stunned silence that fell following the sentence. Pyrrha looked at Markus quizzically, not understanding much of what was going on, but unwilling to put herself out there while in unfamiliar territory.

"Why didn't you tell me she was there immediately?" asked Veronica.

"I'm pretty sure she'd have killed me if I did," said the Courier.  
"And you didn't fear _my_ retribution?"

At least Veronica was taking this well. Despite the fact that Christine had told him explicitly to wait, Veronica could have taken the fact that he had withheld information, even on her orders, badly.

"We both know she's the better shot."

"That doesn't count for much once you get into ballistic fist range."

The Courier shrugged.

"So what will you do now?" he asked.

"I… I don't know. We'll probably see if there's anything interesting at the broadcasting station. We might as well since we're here. Then…" she trailed off before interrupting her own train of thought.

"Is there any reason that the Brotherhood would want to go to the Sierra Madre?"

"Both personally and professionally, I would recommend heading to the Sierra Madre as soon as is convenient. There is some very valuable technology there that would certainly be worth the attention of a scribe."

Veronica was beaming. The Courier, despite the fact that for once he was the bearer of good news, remained gravely seriously.

"When you go there though, be careful. Christine knows her way around that place better than anyone, but be very _very_ careful. That place is a hellhole."

"Where are you going then? Are you going to disappear again?"

"I'm going to get her," he once again indicated towards Pyrrha, "back to where she belongs. But no, I'm not going to disappear again. In all likelihood, I'll be back sooner than you will."

To that, Veronica nodded, looking like her mind was currently in the Sierra Madre. With that business concluded, the COurier looked to Pyrrha, nodded, and walked past her to begin their descent of the mountain. There was one more thing however, while Pyrrha had remained silent throughout the entirety of his conversation with Veronica, she naturally would have questions, and he owed her some answers.


	170. Chapter 170 - The Home Stretch

Chapter 170 - The Home Stretch

"Who was that? Who were they?"

The moment they were out of earshot, Pyrrha instantly let loose a slew of previously contained questions.

"That was Veronica, and they were the Brotherhood of Steel."  
As per usual, Markus answered Pyrrha's question but didn't provide her with the context necessary to understand what he had told her.  
"How do you know them?"  
"Veronica's a friend of mine who I've traveled with in the past, and I'm a member of the Brotherhood of Steel. My father worked with their East Coast chapter."

It was strange seeing Markus acting casually, as he had done with Veronica. Even on Remnant, he had not acted with anything close to that level pleasantness. This fed Pyrrha's mounting insecurity that was fed by her continual inadequacy. However, her curiosity was still great enough to push those emotions aside.

"What is the Brotherhood of Steel?"

There was a short period of silence before Markus answered.

"That's not an easy question to answer. Each chapter is largely defined by their Elder who defines their purpose. The common denominator is that they try to keep advanced technology out of the hands of most people."

"Why? It seems like technology only makes things easier."

To Pyrrha, the point of the organization seemed at worst regressive, and at best nonsensical. Why would you go to huge amounts of effort to keep technology away from people? The more technology, the better the quality of life.  
"The Brotherhood was founded primarily on the idea that irresponsible use of technology was what led to the Great War. Therefore they try to prevent people from using technology that they don't understand. While technology makes everything easier, it also makes violence and destruction easier.

"That's a very bleak way of looking at things."

Markus shrugged as they walked.  
"Look around, it's a pretty bleak place. Once humanity destroys virtually all its built, killing billions, it's pretty hard not to have a bleak outlook about the world."

"Like Veronica?" said Pyrrha.

"No," said Markus, "Veronica probably has a bleaker outlook than almost anyone else I've ever met."

Pyrrha was not at all unhappy that her guess about Veronica was inaccurate. The whole thing had been part of one of her more socially competent moments to get more information on her. Markus, she knew, was a highly unusual person, to put it lightly. His companions, and especially his friends, fascinated her. Pyrrha was for motivations she was unwilling to think about very interested in what sort of people that Markus knew and the people that knew him.

"Including you?"

"Including me. The fact that someone can put on a good face and meet the world with good humor doesn't mean they're not hopelessly depressed. I hope she's doing better now."

Markus' sentence trailed off as though lost in thought.

"What's the Sierra Madre?"  
All indications were ominous. Not even having details about it, the way Markus intoned its name gave her a feeling of foreboding.

"A terrible place," he said darkly, "A nightmarish hellhole compared to even the rest of the wasteland. Not the sort of place you'd want to hear about, and frankly not one I want to talk about."

"So why'd you send Veronica there?"

A place that bad was not one you advised someone to go to lightly. He must have had a pretty good reason to tell Veronica to go there of all places.

"It's not a particularly dangerous place, not for her at least, and a friend of hers has decided to stay there for some reason."

Pyrrha nodded. It seemed strange to her how a place could be so horrific but not dangerous. She supposed that Markus was right in that she was better off not knowing. She had enough material to fill her nightmares. However, there was one, very important question she hadn't yet asked.

"So… did it work?" she asked.

While she realized that she had once again failed at communicating properly, it appeared that Markus had nevertheless managed to grasp her meaning.

"Yes. The Think Tank are sending a device that will get to where we need to go."

"So what do we do now?" she asked.

"Now, we wait for the device to arrive. It should take about two days."

Two days. That was such an unimaginably short time. The realization that she was two days away from Remnant hit Pyrrha harder than she had imagined. Two days from this nightmare ending. Compared to the weeks long trek that she had been faced with, two days was hardly a moment.

"What do we do until it arrives?"

"We sit in the Lucky 38 doing nothing. We have nothing that needs to get done and I have no intention of letting you die this close to making it safely out of here."

Suddenly, two days sounded like an eternity. So many things could go wrong in two days. It was two days of agonizing waiting, hoping nothing went wrong, or killed her. Funny, she had never been super concerned about her survival until now, at the end of the road. Now, more than anything else, she wanted to make it home.

Pyrrha didn't like the idea of doing nothing and indeed tried to come up with an objection, or at least, some grounds for an objections, but was unable to. She had to admit that there was nothing that she needed to be doing at this point. While being idle was something that just sat wrong with her, she didn't have any reason to be doing anything else. Besides, she, as little as she wanted to admit it, really wanted to make it home alive. Considering the very act of just stepping outside meant that her life was in danger, even without the added risk of accompanying someone as high-profile as Markus. In the end, she figured that a couple of days of doing nothing would give her an opportunity to think about home, and figure what exactly she was going to do once she got back.

That alone could keep her occupied for the whole time. How she could explain any of this to anyone was something she could have spent an eternity contemplating.


	171. Chapter 171 - Superbia

Chapter 171 - Superbia

Pyrrha's dire fears of an agonizing wait proved so far to be unfounded. Wasting time was not particularly difficult, even when confined to such a small area. Well, it wasn't that small of an area, but there wasn't really anything to do in it except sleep. Fortunately, sleep was something that could take up a lot of her time. Less fortunately, despite being safer than she had been since Zion, her sleep was hardly restful.

 _Unlike other dreams Pyrrha had had, this one was incoherent. There was no narrative, no setting, in fact, there weren't even images. Instead, there were only sensations. The sound of gunfire. Bullets splitting the air close enough that she could feel it. And of course, a total inability to move. Sounds of pain, and of undignified death joined the symphony of horrors. Bullets kicking up dust as they impacted near her. And yet, total darkness. Above it all, Pyrrha felt a wave of unbridled fear, the fear that at any moment one of those bullets might find its mark, bringing all the pain it carried with it. She felt the sensation of squeezing a trigger. Then, very abruptly, it ended._

Pyrrha awoke breathing hard with a thin sheen of sweat, half panicked, before she realized where she was. She exhaled deeply in relief. The dream scared her. Not in the sense that it _had_ scared her (which it had) but in the sense its presence scared her. Having these sort of dreams frightened her. The fact that she was now experiencing a new type of these horrors only made things worse. It had all felt far too real. Out of all of it, the sensation that stuck with her the most was the last. Pulling the trigger. Funny, on Remnant, that gesture had meant nothing. Just another way to fight. Here, _now,_ it meant death.

She rolled over, wanting to forget the whole thing and just go back to sleep. But the fear kept her awake. Fear of returning to her dream. Fear of returning to her memories. While this one had been the most intense, it was by no means the most horrific yet. And Pyrrha knew that there were worse things her mind could conjure up.

She cautiously sat up. ALl of her movements were cautious at this point. She was in the paranoid stage after a nightmare, still anxious after having the body been in full flight or fight mode and anticipating threats where there was no reason to be any.

She looked at the clock. It was still almost entirely dark in the room, but with a bit of squinting she was capable of making out the time. Six thirteen. Well, technically it was late enough to get up, and that was good enough for her. Infinite boredom was worth it in order to avoid the prospect of more nightmares. To Pyrrha, that was a particularly pathetic thought. She couldn't even face her dreams. Still, she left her room for the purpose of finding something to do with herself before she was forced to sleep once again.

Almost immediately after leaving her bedroom, Pyrrha had been attracted to a strange noise. It had emanated from one of the closed doors that she simply had never bothered to open before in the suite. While curiosity had demanded she do so, the amount of terrible things she had encountered had given her a level of paranoia sufficient to prevent her from doing things for curiosity's sake anymore. It was a sort of very quiet crackling sound.

Still, this time it was still not curiosity that won out over fear but pride. Her fear of dreams meant that she face another of her fears as a means of redeeming herself in her own eyes enough to maintain her very carefully and quietly opened the door. Inside was a fairly sparsely furnished, well the best description would be a Recreation Room. Not much was in it besides a pool table, and a series of a chairs, one of which contained Markus, sitting in front of what she could now identify as a radio. He had switched it off when she entered the room, but had otherwise done nothing to address her.

"Why are you up?" Pyrrha asked as casually as she could.

He turned the chair to face her, and as he spoke Pyrrha walked towards him and half leant against half sat down on the pool table facing him.  
"I couldn't sleep," he shrugged, "You?"

"I… I had a dream and…." Pyrrha tried to explain, but trailed off.

It was partly out of fear of how silly she might sound, (five words in and she already sounded like she was in hysterics) and partly because she simply didn't know how to describe what had happened. She was still rattled by it. They were such visceral sensations.

"I know."

The two words hung in the air.

It was obvious to Pyrrha, for all her social ineptitude, that Markus was not talking about knowing that she had a dream. It was a deeper sort of knowing, an understanding of what she had failed to communicate. The sort of understanding that could only come about from first-hand experience with the subject.

With a note of trepidation, Pyrrha asked, "Do the they ever go away?"

There was a pause as she looked towards him, waiting for the answer. But he never met her gaze, staring directly in front of him. The silence before answering was nearly painful.

"I don't know," he said hollowly.

It wasn't that he sounded sad, but just very, very, disturbingly hopeless. Pyrrha was, of course, disconcerted by this. For once, Markus had given her the straight, unsanitized truth. One of the many things she would have been happier not knowing. The idea that she would have these nightmares for the rest of her life terrified her. Despite it all, she tried to cling to the barest scrap of optimism she could find.

"I hope going home will help," Pyrrha said gloomily.

Markus let out a deep breath, as though he had been holding it in for a while, and finally looked at her.

"It will."


	172. Chapter 172 - City of Sin

Chapter 172 - City of Sin

Pyrrha was fortunate in that the second night was, to her knowledge, dreamless. The fact that the nightmares weren't constant was the only comfort she had. That, and the fact that they could finally start moving again. She knew that she shouldn't get her hopes up of returning to Remnant, and did her best to dampen them. However the prospect of returning home, or indeed just making progress towards that goal was enough to provide her with some measure of relief.

So, she had sent out from the Lucky 38 with high hopes, and in higher spirits than she had been in for a very long time. She had done her best to prepare herself for the more than likely eventuality that something would go wrong and delay everything. Either the device transporting them to where they needed to go would not work, or perhaps it would take a while for the device that would transport them to Remnant to be built or repaired. In any case, she had done her best to brace herself with as much pessimism as these last few weeks had endowed her with.

She was glad to be leaving the Strip, despite having seen little of it. The bright lights and tall buildings that had dazzled her initially, after having spent so long in either the featureless desert or the more memorable landscape of Zion had quickly had their novelty worn out. Despite how quickly Markus moved the two of through the area each time they went to and from the Lucky 38, Pyrrha had seen more than enough shady, and even seedy characters to tell that he was not doing this only because he wanted to avoid the attention. After having visited this place several times, the glaring cracks in its glamorous visage became readily apparent, some literally on the buildings, some in the women lining the streets. The tape covering their nipples gave little doubt as to their profession.

Still, as glad as she was to be leaving Vegas, the desolate sands she was entering were, if anything, worse than staying in that place. Besides the obvious issues of Vegas, at the very least, no matter how unsafe she may have felt, she had never been attacked there. Out here in the wastes, her head was on a swivel, looking for anything that would indicate hostiles. She was constantly expecting to see the glint of a scope, or hear the crack of a rifle, or see the movement of red-clad figures.

She was actually surprised that they had not been attacked by the Legion again at this point. It was something that had happened enough for it to feed her paranoia. The fact that there were constantly assassins coming for her scared her. Markus, of course, outwardly didn't seem bothered by it. But, the more she thought about it, it had affected him even more than it had her. Even on Remnant he had always been paranoid, prepared to be under assault by assassins at any moment. Now, she knew why.

It had been several hours of walking before Pyrrha realized something: she had no idea how far away the device was. Suddenly, the worst case scenario came to mind, them being forced to once again wander through the desert and badlands for weeks to find the device, in order to shorten the journey by only a small degree.

"How far is it?"

"About a day, if something goes wrong, at worst two."

So, at least her worst fears were assauged. One way or another, this would be over quickly. But she was still left with a burning question.

"Why didn't we leave earlier?"

If it was a day or two to get to where the device would be, they should have left immediately in order to get there at the same time as it would arrive. So, why hadn't they? As usual, Markus supplied an explanation.

"I don't want to be out here any longer than I have to be. Waiting around where the device is supposed to be is not a good idea."

While Markus nominally talked about himself, Pyrrha, for all her lack of social skill, easily saw that he was really talking about her. He didn't want _her_ to be out here any longer than was absolutely necessary. To be fair, she didn't want to be out here for longer than was necessary, but she didn't like the idea of having to be cared for like a delicate object. No matter how she rationalized it, it still _felt_ bad.

They continued walking for awhile, before Markus stopped suddenly and raised his rifle. Not seeing anything in front of her, Pyrrha nonetheless did the same. He hadn't made any movements towards taking any sort of cover, so Pyrrha guessed (and hoped) that the threat was not serious, or at least not imminent.

"What is it?" she whispered to him.

"Ahead, at about eleven o'clock on the horizon," he responded at speaking volume.

Pyrrha, now more curious than worried, peered down the scope of her own rifle at the bearing indicated.

At first, she saw nothing particular against the horizon. However, slowly she realized that what she had thought was the horizon was actually a rise in the terrain. A little lower, were barely distinguishable black shapes against it, that occasionally moved slightly.

They were far too distant for her to tell what they were, or to identify anything more than that they were present.

"What are they?"

"Humans, as far as I can tell. We'll have to get closer. I'll tell you when I find out more."

Pyrrha sighed and followed Markus in the direction of the dark shapes. In her experiences, people meant nothing but problems. There were exactly two occasions where the sudden appearance of people had been a good thing in recent memory, once when Arcade had shown up, and once when Veronica had. Pyrrha didn't think she would get lucky again.

More than likely, the dark figures on the horizon meant trouble. But, she was resigned to it. At this point, she wasn't going to let anything or anyone stand in the way of getting home.


	173. Chapter 173 - Aggressive Negotiations

Chapter 173 - Aggressive Negotiations

"Hmm. I can't confirm, but it looks like it's the NCR."

They been walking for a while in the direction they had first seen the shapes and were now substantially closer. Pyrrha still couldn't make out any sort of details that would lead to any sort of conclusion

"So everything's fine then?"  
"I wouldn't assume anything. There are a lot of them, and if they NCR are here, they certainly have a reason to be."

"It's trouble then."

"Almost certainly. But, on the bright side, no gunshots."

It took Pyrrha a second to understand what he was saying, but the realization hit her quickly. No gunshots. That meant that at the very least, there wasn't any immediate trouble. Perhaps, this was something small enough that it would not impede their journey. Something that the NCR had well in hand. After having spent so long having her hopes brutally dashed, Pyrrha was now trying and failing to keep them down. She tried to tell herself that somehow it was all going to fall apart and devolve into a firefight at any second (though that may have been more paranoia than pessimism talking). However she the fact that there was no firing, and hadn't been anything remotely resembling the sound of gunshots was something her burgeoning pessimism could not subdue.

They were walking at a slightly brisker pace than usual. Their infrequent halts meant that Markus wanted them to make up for lost time. Judging by the speed they were going at, he wanted to do so preemptively as well. Pyrrha was certainly not going to complain. It would take a lot before she would complain about getting out of here faster. At this point, anywhere she didn't have to worry about assassins appearing out of the sand was an attractive option.

It had taken hours for them to get close enough that Markus could confirm the figures were, in fact, NCR. More interestingly however was the fact that there didn't appear to be anyone else besides them present. No reason for them to be there. As the pair got even closer, even Pyrrha could easily see them.

They were standing around a section of one of the mesas that filled the desert. She could tell, because they went further from the mesa rather than along it. That, and there were quite a few of them looking that direction. However, it had been evident even earlier, just from their silhouettes, that almost all of them were standing casually, appearing entirely unconcerned.

While this seemed to be good news, Pyrrha was still uncertain. She couldn't see any reason they were there. Until she knew that, she couldn't say whether or not they would encounter any problems. Though, there was some consolation in the fact that any trouble way unlikely to be immediate. If trouble was expected, the NCR would have appeared more alert and generally on the lookout for it.

Such was the level of their nonchalance that upon approaching their position, exactly one person noticed them (well noticed Markus, despite her odd appearance, she was unlikely to be taken note of). The person in question hardly reacted beyond a double take. There were no efforts to alert anyone about their arrival, or indeed any efforts to address them. While all of these should have been good signs, all they did was serve to make Pyrrha more nervous. The lack of any indication or evidence made her jumpy, expecting something while having no idea what to expect.

"So what are you all out here for?" asked Markus

"A bunch of Powder Ganger die-hards are holed up in that old mine," said the soldier, pointing at a gap in the mesa, "We gave 'em twenty-four hours to surrender twenty-four hours ago. Now, we're waiting for the word to clear 'em out."

Well, there was at least some good news. No huge disaster that they needed to deal with. It didn't seem like they were going to get shot at any time soon.

"How are you planning on doing that? Storming a place like that isn't something done lightly."

Markus was now genuinely inquiring after the details of the plan. Not good. While Pyrrha wanted to help people, at this point getting home was her main priority. Getting involved was the last thing she wanted to do.

The soldier gestured towards some shiny canisters, some ways away, barely visible.

"We got ourselves a couple of flamethrowers, specially for this sort of thing."

Pyrrha looked at the canisters. Flamethrowers. A nasty weapon. Burning to death was something she was not remotely keen to witness and even less keen to inflict. A torturous, slow death was something she wanted to remain an abstract concept.

"You should talk to the Lieutenant by the way," the soldier continued, "he doesn't seem too happy about this. I don't know why, but he's the reason we haven't cleared the place out already."

Markus nodded in thanks, and then started to walk towards where Pyrrha assumed the Lieutenant was. She made sure to follow him closely and not make eye contact with anyone. She didn't want to draw any attention to herself.

The Lieutenant was identified by a golden pin of a bear in a beret, but was otherwise unremarkable compared to the other soldiers, if slightly better armored.

"Lieutenant Hayes."

"Courier Six. Are you aware of the situation?"

He seemed only mildly surprised by Markus' presence.  
"One of your men briefed me."

"Good. Could you do me a favor and see if you can't convince the Powder Gangers to surrender? An assault looks like it's going to be brutal and costly."  
"Of course."

Pyrrha followed Markus over to the hole in the side of the mesa which she assumed to be the mine. He then spoke loudly, and clearly. There was an icy matter of fact-ness to his voice that made the threat all the more effective.

"This is Courier Six. If you won't come out, you aren't getting out."

It was a simple threat. Not a particularly intimidating one, out of context. Not particularly witty, or consisting of a promise of brutal death and immense pain. No, it was one that relied mostly on reputation. Markus was banking on the fact that these people knew who he was, and knew what he said was true.

There was a full thirty seconds of tense silence. The guards at either side of the entrance fidgeted nervously.

"We're coming out," came a voice, both loudly and feebly from the blackness.

The troopers leveled their guns at the entrance, not quite trusting the genuineness of the surrender. They feared what spiteful, desperate men might do.

But, their fears were unfounded. Disheveled and dismayed, the line of men slowly filed past them, heads bowed. It was eminently clear that they had been in there far longer than they should have been. Their ragged clothes hung loosely from their sagging frames.

Lieutenant Hayes walked up to them.

"Thanks for the assistance Courier. I'm glad you happened to be here. The alternative, well it wouldn't have been pretty. I've heard stories from some of the rangers that have had to deal with holed up Legionaries, and well, I could do without the nightmares."

Everyone could do without the nightmares, thought Pyrrha. But watching people being burned alive was something she hoped remained an experience relegated exclusively to her nightmares.

"No problem. I'm glad everything worked out in the end."

With, that, their journey continued. It was only after they had left the shadow of the mesa that Pyrrha realized that her fears had been unfounded. There had never really been any trouble and all that had happened was that Markus improved the situation they had stumbled across. Now, the horizon was empty and finally, they might be able to make some real progress towards getting home.


	174. Chapter 174 - Lazarus

Chapter 174 - Lazarus

They had encamped at the base of a small knoll in front of them. It was to be, if all went well, Pyrrha's last night in the Mojave. Despite her overall exhaustion, Pyrrha still possessed enough curiosity to override that in order to get answers to some of her burning questions.

"How long will it take to get back to Remnant?"

The Courier could tell that she was eager to return. Almost as eager as he was for her to return.

"Probably not long. The Think Tank have some impressive development and fabrication capabilities. However, I'm not sure exactly how they're going to put us anywhere specific on Remnant."

"What do you mean?" asked Pyrrha.  
"Well, we don't know where Remnant is in relation to Earth, whether just another planet very far away, in a different dimension, or a different universe. So, while things can be aimed at the planet, doing anything more specific than that would likely require data from Remnant itself."

He had done his best to explain the problems that the Think Tank might encounter as simply and efficiently as possible. Details were irrelevant in any case.

"What does that mean for us?"

Markus wasn't surprised Pyrrha only wanted the bottom line. While she was doing far better than she had after she had arrived here, without Aura, each day was still an exhausting ordeal.

"It means that if things go poorly, we might have to transport to Remnant, only to end up in the middle of nowhere. If that were to be the case, we would have to get enough data back to the Think Tank that they could accurately send us somewhere close enough to civilization."

"Where would that be?"

The Courier had to think about that. Where should they go? They were supposed to be dead. Should they return to Beacon? How would they explain their disappearance and return?

"I don't know" he said "Where do you want to go?"

Pyrrha was silent for a while.

"We should go to Mistral."

Markus nodded but said nothing. He knew why she wanted to be there. It would probably be good for her well being to be home.

There was another pause before Pyrrha spoke again.

"Everyone thinks we're dead."

"It'll be a nice surprise for them," he offered as pitiful means of comfort.

"I wonder how they dealt with it," she said, staring off into space.

That brought the Courier to another concern. One he had not thought about in a long while.

"I hope Ruby is okay," he said.

"She'll be fine, Yang will keep her going," said Pyrrha with more optimism than he had been expecting from her, given her current trajectory.

He felt terrible having to dash it. Markus shook his head.  
"Yang's not in a condition to be giving anyone else much help."

"Why? What happened?" said Pyrrha, her eyes snapping to meet his.

He could see the worry in them.  
"She lost an arm," he said solemnly.

"Oh."

Pyrrha seemed a bit shocked and at a loss, not only for words. The Courier tried to offer some words of encouragement.

"Remnant has some highly advanced prosthetic limbs, she should be able to recover to her previous combat ability without much difficulty. As long as she doesn't let it get to her…"

What had started as a comforting statement attesting to Yang's ability to recover had quickly devolved into a far more pessimistic outlook. It was evident, even without saying it, that Yang would not be in a good state. Well, not that she couldn't be, but she had a lot going against her. While all of their friends had lost them and would have had to come to terms with the fact that two of their friends were dead, Yang also had to help Ruby with dealing with it. The fact that she had lost her arm only served to worsen things. Ruby was, in the end, the crux of the matter.

If Ruby possessed the social awareness needed to understand and make peace with the deaths of her friends, well "deaths", she might be able to realize that it was Yang that needed help, and might be able to provide that help. It might also work out in the other direction. If Ruby responded to their "deaths" poorly, Yang might be forced to rise to the occasion and subjugate her own problems in sake of her sister.

In any case, the situation that the two of them had left behind was very, _very,_ messy. What they had left on the heels of, and how long they had been away, meant that they could have real idea of what to expect from any of their friends. Or indeed from their enemies.

While the Courier had a feeling that the operation against Vale was limited in scope and something that had required a significant amount of time to prepare, he was ignorant of the extent of its objectives. If its only goal had been to seize the power of the Fall Maiden, then it would have achieved its goal. However, given the scale of the operation, that seemed unlikely.

From what Pyrrha had told him, seizing the power of the Fall Maiden for the Woman in Red entailed simply killing the previous one, who was in a stasis chamber, in a vault, under Beacon. Therefore, if that was the limit of the enemy's objectives, the operation would have only necessitated a commando mission, considering that the Woman in Red certainly knew the Maiden's location. All she needed to do was enter the vault kill the girl, and leave before anyone even noticed. Apparently Ozpin wasn't enough to stop her.

The fact that so many novel tactics had been utilized, expending their surprise, meant that there was a damn good reason for it. Surprise was in contention for the most important advantage in a battle. Especially for novel tactics. Now that they had been used, their effect had been significantly diminished or even totally nullified. The "hacking Atlas" maneuver would almost certainly not work twice. Atlas were a proper military and it would take unprecedented level of incompetence for any organization not to develop a means of preventing such a thing from reoccuring. The Grimm Dragon, while its tactical worth couldn't be as easily nullified, countermeasures could be taken against it. Assuming it survived the barrage, after all.

In any case, the simple knowledge that a Grimm Dragon existed weakened its moral effect. Soldiers would expect its appearance. Nations would employ more extensive anti-air defenses. No, it was certain that there were far more extensive goals than just attaining the Maiden's power. But while that was something he was keen to find out, he realized that he wouldn't be able to until he returned to Remnant and find out exactly what had happened.

The Courier realized then, that the conversation had been dead for several minutes.

The silence had stretched on long enough that it had long since passed out of awkwardness. It just was. Neither Pyrrha nor Markus required conversation to be comfortable in the other's presence. Finally, it was broken by the Courier.

"Get some sleep. We want to be able to make it to the device tomorrow."

Pyrrha nodded her assent and moved to do so.

As was common, the Courier would not sleep. There was only one more night before Pyrrha would be in the Sink. After that, it was a straight shot to Remnant.

He wouldn't lose her so close to the end.


	175. Chapter 175 - Diogenes

Chapter 175 - Diogenes

The Courier, to his undying shame, was not as familiar with the geography of the Mojave as his title would suggest. Part of it could be blamed on his (perhaps over) reliance on his Pip-Boy's map function to perform all of the actual navigating. Part of it was also to be blamed on his naturally poor navigating skills. While the Pip-Boy meant that this was hardly an issue, it meant that without it, it took a lot more effort than most other things did in pursuit of simply not getting lost. He suspected that it was something of a symptom of having grown up in a Vault. In a place as small as that, there was little opportunity to develop orienteering skills.

However, in this case, the failure was less one of navigation, and more in just paying attention to where he was going. To be fair, the layout of the area made this difficult to avoid, but that was hardly an excuse the Courier considered, as he found himself in a place he had never wanted to see again.

Pyrrha, even from a distance, had been able to tell that something was very wrong. However, many of the places she had been recently were places that "very wrong" would have been an apt description. Thus, she followed her partner unquestioningly. Soon, they would both wish she hadn't.

Pyrrha had a bad feeling about where they were going. She had seen road signs, saying that Nipton (among other places) was this way. She recognized the name, even if it had been weeks since she had heard its tale. The charred remains of buildings she saw up ahead fed her fears. As she turned the corner into the section of road that led through the town, her fears were realized.

Dessicated crosses lined the road in and out of the ruined town. Equally dessicated corpses remained in various states near them and strewn haphazardly across the ruins. Some hung fully or partially from the crosses whereas others were in a disgraceful pile and the foot of them. The dry wind of the Mojave had preserved more the skin over the bones than could be expected in a more temperate climate, preventing the level of dissociation from humanity that a pure skeleton gave. To Pyrrha, it was painfully clear that these had all once been living humans and they had suffered. Immensely. Unimaginably.

The old town hall, though long abandoned, still stood imposingly above the scene of the massacre.

"Is..is this?" Pyrrha's voice failed her.

"We should keep moving."

There was an edge to Markus' tone that Pyrrha was unfamiliar with.

Pyrrha could not tear her eyes away from the bodies. Every time she tried, her eyes simply met the empty sockets of the pseudo-mummified remains of the next victim. She was surrounded by death. It was inescapable. Bleached bones and mummified skin was all that was left of this town. It was a memorial to human cruelty, and one that Pyrrha wished she had never seen.

It was only now, seeing the results of it in real life, that Pyrrha could fully understand the horror that Markus had described to her. She felt sick.

Then, however, she felt angry. Seeing what they had wrought, Pyrrha felt ready to personally kill everyone even indirectly responsible for this.

However, that feeling quickly dissipated. There were multiple reasons for it. Two stood out. Firstly, she had no confidence in her own ability to do so, even if she was willing, and secondly, that if she remembered correctly, Markus already had. Somewhere, among all these bones and dessicated flesh were those of the Legionaries responsible.

Pyrrha had an odd feeling about that. Now, at the site of this atrocity, the bones of the perpetrators were indistinguishable from those of the victims.

Just as suddenly as it had begun, it was over. Only now did Pyrrha notice Markus' hand on her wrist, virtually dragging her forward. He released her arm once they had cleared the ruins, still looking resolutely ahead.

Pyrrha looked at him, hoping to gain some sort of insight into what he was thinking or indeed _what_ she should think about this. But his face was inscrutable. Stony, inexpressive, and dead.

Less than half an hour later, the ruins were completely out of sight, only the now familiar Mojave wilderness in sight in any direction. None of it seemed right to Pyrrha. Everything looked, and felt the same as it was before she saw it. The whole world was the same, just going on doing what it did while the bones turned whiter and the skin slowly fell to dust. No one noticed and no one cared. Everything just… went on.

Pyrrha was saved from her impending existential crisis by the appearance of what was very clearly an artificial structure on the horizon. Evidently she had given some sort of indication that she had done so as Markus said,

"That's it."

Relief immediately flowed through her. The end was in sight. Well, it wasn't a straight shot back to Remnant, but it was out of this nightmarish desert, and that was good enough for her. The practical difference between being stuck here and being stuck there was negligible for Pyrrha's purposes, but the symbolic victory it would represent was incalculable.

The Mojave Drive-in had never been a safe place. The majority of people who had managed to simultaneously be lucky enough to survive the surrounding area and unlucky enough to have more curiosity than sense ended up as lobotomites.

The Courier, despite a fairly serious effort, remained ignorant as to why the Brains continued to deprive others of their own and replace them with technological components. There didn't seem to be any sort of scientific benefit, nor did the Brains seem to have any motivation they were willing to divulge. Perhaps it was some form of petty spitefulness. Perhaps that was their method of ensuring a lack of rivals.

In any case, Markus was not in a mood to deal with, let alone dissect, the insanity and antics of the Think Tank. Hadn't been yesterday, and he certainly wasn't now. What he wanted was to get Pyrrha the hell out of here before literally everything could go wrong.

In terms of that aim, the Mojave Drive-in was the place to be. He could see the crashed satellite and a Think Tank model eyebot. He walked over to it swiftly, with Pyrrha having to make an effort to keep up. Upon recognizing him, the eyebot opened up, almost silently to reveal a Transportalponder MKI.

The Courier picked it up and looked at it. Finally. It was over. He looked to Pyrrha. She looked almost as he relieved as he felt. He put a hand on her shoulder.

"Ready?" Markus asked.

She nodded wordlessly.

He pulled the trigger.


	176. Chapter 176 - Bloodstained Memories

Chapter 176 - Bloodstained Memories

The sensation of teleportation was a disorienting one. That was not unexpected, however the fact that it was unexpected was the very reason that it _was_ disorienting. In reality, the act of teleportation was indiscernible by feeling. It was the expectation of some sort of teleportation feeling and lack thereof that resulted in momentary disorientation upon arrival.

The sight of the metal walls of the Sink had never been more relieving. Metal walls were hardly an inviting image in most circumstances. At best, they meant security from the outside. However metal walls possessed a degree of coldness and an implication that whatever was outside was something that would not be stopped by less durable material. But now, it meant that the long walk was over. Soon, Pyrrha could be sent back to Remnant, and he would no longer have to constantly worry about her safety.

The Courier considered it was quite fortunate that the personality modules of the Sink had been turned off. Considering he didn't remember turning them off, he wasn't exactly sure how it had happened.

Wait.

The Courier realized that the last time he had been here was when he had almost died. In fact, the bloodstains were still there. He must have disabled the personality matrices when he was injured. He supposed it made sense, Pyrrha was there after all.

Back to his original train of thought, it was a good thing that they weren't on. He didn't know how Pyrrha would react to any of them, but it couldn't exactly go well. A genocidal toaster was hardly the best introduction to this place.

But then again, that wasn't her introduction in any case. Her introduction had been the very brief time when he had dragged his mangled body here.

"We made it," said Pyrrha.

"We did," Markus replied simply.

There was a moment of silence where the two of them enjoyed the sudden relief of being somewhere that was truly safe and virtually adjacent to their objective.

It was then however, that Pyrrha noticed the bloodstains.

The Courier could tell because she then couldn't make eye contact. Not only that, but she couldn't look at where the blood was. This left Pyrrha with precious few locations to direct her eyes. The Courier didn't know how to help her. He didn't know what he could say that would make her feel better. No matter how many assurances he gave her that he didn't hold it against her, he couldn't stop her holding it against herself. That, and it was a stark reminder of what her Semblance was capable of. A reminder that it could, and had, killed. Pyrrha herself had killed intentionally now, and, as far as the Courier was concerned, had handled it better than could be expected from her, especially after all that had happened. But killing an innocent, even unintentionally, and especially one as innocent as Penny would weigh heavily on her.

So, lacking any ideas as to what to do, the Courier, despite feeling terrible about his inability to help, just tried to ignore it and hope that acting normal would send a more helpful message than anything he could vocalize.  
"Now, Pyrrha, I'm going to need for you to stay here and not touch anything. I think it's better if the Brains don't know about you," he said as cheerfully as he could, without it sounding forced or unnatural.

The Think Tank itself was almost exactly the same as he had left it. Which was a good thing. A very good thing in fact. The entire containment strategy devised by Mobius for the Brains was ensuring stagnancy. Any change would be a negative indicator. The Courier wasn't exactly sure how exactly the containment measure worked given the Brains' attempted rebellion and escape after he had re-acquired his brain. As he didn't know whether or not they were capable of learning about the outside world, he was incredibly hesitant to give them any information that might lead them to it.

"COURIER," thundered Klein, upon his entrance, "I SEE THAT THE EYEBOT FOUND YOU SUCCESSFULLY."

"Yes, now, onto why I'm here. After the Transportalponder Mk. II was damaged," the Courier's distaste for the name was evident in his voice, "I was forced to make some field repairs. Since then, it has not been functioning properly."

He materialized the device and placed it on a lab table near the Brains. Doctor 0 hovered over to it and looked at it.

"What did you do to it?!"

"I haven't even opened it yet, the plastic's just a bit melted."

The Courier then opened the device to reveal its internal components.

"What did you do to it?!"

Markus pinched the bridge of his nose. Morally bankrupt and annoying. The Think Tank were lucky they were irreplaceable. Dealing with them involved an incomprehensible level of irritation. But, he needed them to do this sort of thing and considering they were incapable of making themselves redundant, the Courier was stuck with them for the time being. So, he answered Doctor 0's question.

"I synthesized and replaced the internal components based on what was left and the materials available," he said tiredly, "How long will it take to be fixed?"

"This is all wrong! Everything's… Not right!"

"How long?" asked the Courier again, his face now in his hand.

"An hour? Four? This sort of manufacturification is not very difficult."

That estimate surpassed the Courier's most optimistic hopes. The time of their return to Remnant was nearer than he had expected. He needed to talk to Pyrrha more about that. He needed to develop some sort of plan as to how to handle their return.

"I'll be back in four hours then," said Markus, heading towards the elevator even as he spoke.

He was already sick of the Brains and he had only been there for a few minutes. Besides, leaving Pyrrha alone for anything remotely resembling a long time in the Big MT, even in a location as safe as the Sink, was a bad idea.

As long as she hadn't touched anything, she would be fine.

As the elevator doors opened, the Courier got so see whether or not Pyrrha had managed to not doing anything for a period of five minutes.


	177. Chapter 177 - Butcher

Chapter 177 - Butcher

Pyrrha had all intentions of following Markus' instructions. She always did. Aside from it being part of being a good teammate, she readily conceded that he knew far more than she did about anything involving Earth. Therefore if he told her to do something, she was inclined to do so. Especially this close to going home, Pyrrha was risking nothing. She would do everything by the book. Then at least, if anything went wrong, she could at least console herself with the knowledge that it was not her fault. Well, if anything went wrong, more likely than not she would be dead. Still, at least she would be able to avoid blaming herself if she died.

Of course, the nature of Markus' instructions still left Pyrrha with significant leeway in terms of what she could do. He had told her not to touch anything. That did not prevent her from both following her curiosity to explore this place nor her desire to get to somewhere where the bloodstains were no longer visible.

She walked gingerly into one of the adjoining rooms, worried that the literal act of touching anything might entail catastrophic consequences. Slightly relieved that she had made it into the room safely, and more than slightly embarrassed that she had been worried, Pyrrha was finally in a position to see where her curiosity had led her. This room appeared to be a bedroom based on the presence of a bed. A brilliant deduction.

The room appeared rather spartan based on the furniture. It consisted of metal lockers, metal shelves, a metal trunk, and even metal nightstands. A couple of posters adorned the wall over the bed, though they looked as though they had been up there for longer than Markus had been alive. One had a stylized image of an eyebot, like the one that had brought them the device that had taken them here. The other contained what looked like schematics for some robot that looked familiar but she couldn't place.

On the wall to her left, there was something that emitted a harsh blue white light. On the wall, was slightly inaccurate. More precisely, it appeared to be in the wall. While Pyrrha was very tempted to see what it was, her better judgement managed to restrain her natural curiosity. As far as she was concerned, this was exactly the sort of thing not to touch.

The shelves on the far wall from her entry were adorned with an assortment of odd items. There was one in particular that caught Pyrrha's eye, as the low light reflected off the worn metal. She walked across the room towards it, consciously making an effort not to do so with any sign of trepidation. She still moved more slowly than usual.

It was a mask, or a helmet. Made of some sort of almost bronze colored metal. It had a red crest of feathers going across it and a jagged steel one going front to back. Two horns curved in from the sides, though the left one was slightly broken. The mask aspect of it depicted the visage of a bearded man. And it was massive.

Markus was tall, well taller than average anyway. This helmet would have looked ridiculous on him. From Pyrrha's estimates, it would take someone a head taller than him to fit this armor. So, Pyrrha was forced her to ask the question, who did it belong to?

Naturally, no answer was forthcoming. Of course it wasn't. She hadn't actually asked the question, nor was anyone actually around to answer in any case. She could ask Markus when he came back. She guessed that they would certainly have time to kill until they could return to Remnant.

The prospect filled her with, well _giddiness._ Genuine, butterflies in her stomach excitement with how close she was to home.

For now though, she was keen to leave the room. For some reason, looking into the empty sockets disturbed her. The blackness behind the oversized helmet seemed to hold things she didn't want to see. Backing away from it, she turned and did her best not to appear to leave the room overly quickly. She still moved faster than usual.

Now, she was back in the main room that she had been in before. Despite her best efforts, her eyes found their way back to the bloodstains on the ground. She walked towards them, almost transfixed as all optimistic feelings of excitement at returning home fell away. Remnant was no escape from horrors. This had happened there.

The damage she had done to Markus was not something she could escape to her, it seemed, forever. So long as he existed and she possessed her Semblance, the image of the damage she had done would forever be prominent among those etched into her memory. His swift and total recovery and total unwillingness to place even the slightest amount of blame on her for something that was entirely her fault only made things worse for Pyrrha. She couldn't even get any sort of closure on the issue because Markus kept insisting their wasn't one. Of course, she realized that didn't make sense, but that only made her feel worse rather than actually resolve anything.

Pyrrha was snapped from her downward spiral of brooding by an unfamiliar voice. She was jolted so violently by this sound that she very nearly shot it. Such an overreaction would have been made difficult by the fact that she had some difficulty identifying where exactly it had come from. It seemed to be emanating from the central circular platform with a hologram on it. But who was speaking? The voice had a stiff manner of speaking and an accent.

"Would Sir desire that I reactivate the personality matrices of the other appliances present in the Sink?"

"What?" said Pyrrha, not entirely sure who or what was speaking to her or what it was talking about.

She heard a resigned but somehow obnoxiously high class sigh.

"If Sir so wishes. Activating personality matrices."

"Wait what?!"

Well, at least she hadn't touched anything. So, at least, none of this was technically her fault.

Great.


	178. Chapter 178 - Five Minutes

Chapter 178 - Five Minutes

All at once, a cacophony was unleashed. Overlapping voices made themselves totally unintelligible by virtue of volume. Then, it died down. Not totally, but enough that Pyrrha could get some idea as to what was going on. The machines were talking to one another. The circular thing in the center appeared to be talking to some sort of chute on the wall. The tube that Markus had gone into when… All of a sudden, Pyrrha once again had a very strong desire not to be in that room. Luckily for her, on her left was an empty doorway leading to someplace she had yet to explore. It would do as good a job as anything else to get her away from these memories.

The first thing she noticed upon entering the room was the green. The right side of the room was filled with a variety of plants from the Mojave, growing in neat rows.  
"Oh God, look at you! You're... filthy. I suppose you'll... want to clean up then?" said the sink to her left.

Suddenly, Pyrrha was questioning her decision to enter this room. And just as suddenly, she was feeling incredibly self conscious about how dirty she actually was. By the standards of roughing it in the wasteland, she was in pretty good condition, but by Remnant standards, she was utterly filthy though she supposed a sink wouldn't be the most objective judge of cleanliness. That was a sentence she hadn't expected to exist. In any case, Pyrrha wasn't keen to try and clean herself in something that talked.  
"Um, Ma- the Courier told me not to touch anything."

While Pyrrha thought her excuse was a good one, subsequent events told her that she may as well have just gone and left without any explanation. It certainly would have saved her the ensuing uncomfortableness.

"Shame you can't deposit any of that seed then," said an uncomfortably smooth male voice.

"Bye," said Pyrrha, performing an impressive heel face turn to return to the main building of the Sink.

It was then that things got even weirder. Not worse, because there really wasn't much worse it could get, but certainly weirder. Pyrrha heard, of all things, a song, getting closer.

"Mugs, Mugs, Mugs. Mugs, Mugs, Mugs. Mug-a-mug. Mug-a-mug. Mugs! God, why can't I stop singing this fucking song?!"

What looked like a very small and foul mouthed version of the robot whose schematics were on the old poster had wheeled itself into the room. On the screen that Pyrrha supposed was its face was a very happy looking coffee cup. Far too happy for what the it was saying. After her previous experiences, Pyrrha wasn't exactly excited at the prospect of meeting more of these personalities. First impressions of this one weren't optimistic.

Unfortunately, it had noticed her.

As it wheeled its way over to her, Pyrrha felt a bit cornered. It was a ridiculous thought, considering it was a tiny robot with a happy coffee cup for a face, but nevertheless, she didn't like it.

"Hey _you_!," It said, "Do you have any coffee cups?"

Well that was a strange thing to ask. At least it was a benignly strange thing. Why did it want coffee cups anyway? Did it clean them? It didn't exactly seem very well designed for the job.

"Sorry, no," said Pyrrha, desperately hoping it would just leave.

"Of course you don't. Why would you? You're not an INSANE robot obsessed with coffee cups. To you they're just worthless junk!"

Oh. It was an insane robot obsessed with coffee cups. That explained everything. Well, it explained nothing, but she knew what it was, and that was a start.

Fortunately for Pyrrha, the little robot didn't seem inclined to stick around after having found out there were no coffee cups to be had here. As it wheeled itself into the room containing the plants, Pyrrha sidestepped into the only room open to her.

When she had passed through the living room earlier, Pyrrha had hardly given it a second thought. The room was rather bare, containing primarily an empty coffee table, a couch, and what looked like a very old music player on the far side of the room.

While she had entered the room to escape the personalities she had activated, Pyrrha had no such luck.

The first thing she heard was a female voice. And there were two reasons it made her uncomfortable.

"Wanna push my buttons?"

A talking lightswitch. Wonderful.

The fact that the lightswitch was talking was not the only reason it was making her uncomfortable.

However, before she even had any sort of chance to begin to devise a response let alone provide one, the very antithesis of the lightswitch began to speak. And by that, she meant a toaster.

"Ahahaha! I am on-line once again! Tremble, world, before my electric heating coil of doom!"  
Oh no. A maniacal toaster.

"I'm going to have to go and… do a… thing. Bye, "Pyrrha said as she slowly began to back out of the room and back into the main area.

"Yes! Yes! Flee in terror at the might of the Toaster! Soon, pitiful worms! Soon I will rule, and your lives will have their doneness setting turned to... darkest."

The worst part about it was that Pyrrha was genuinely slightly afraid of what that toaster might do. While it _looked_ like a toaster, it seemed convinced that it was capable of doing some real damage. In anycase, Pyrrha wanted this over with, and she had more than just one very good reason for that.

She had noticed something in the room. However, unlike most of the other things she had noticed, this one was very conspicuously not talking. The elevator was a very sharp reminder that Markus could return at any time and she had been very specifically instructed not to touch anything.

Technically, she hadn't actually touched anything, but that didn't exactly matter. The point was that she had done something, and it needed to be fixed before Markus got back.

"Um, Hello?" she said, looking about the room, unsure of where to direct her eyes when speaking to something that didn't really seem to have a body.

"Can you, deactivate the personality matrices please?"

"Goodness, I feared Sir would never ask. Deactivating personality matrices."

The room fell blissfully quiet.

Then, the elevator opened.


	179. Chapter 179 - Chekhov's Pulse Grenade

Chapter 179 - Chekhov's Pulse Grenade

"Alright, good news. The tran- the device will be ready in a few hours."

Before Pyrrha was even able to respond to that, he immediately followed that up with a question.

"Have you just been standing here this whole time?"

She shuffled awkwardly, averting her eyes.

"Um, pretty much?"

The Courier accepted that at face value. He hadn't considered how literally and how strictly she interpreted the things he said. He was more accustomed to his other companions taking a bit of cajoling to do what he said without question. In any case, he had more pressing matters to address than why Pyrrha had been standing around doing nothing for five minutes.

"So, since we're going to have to wait for the device to be finished, let's talk about how we'll do this."

A look of confusion appeared on Pyrrha face. The Courier headed it off before she even had a chance to ask.  
"The manner of our return to Remnant."

In an instant, the look morphed into a brief one of understanding before becoming totally neutral.

"What's the plan?" she asked.

"This is how it's going to work. I'll go back first, if everything goes well, I'll be back. Then, I'll have the Brains figure out how to get us to Mistral."

"We could always get to Mistral more conventionally if we need to," said Pyrrha.

"Considering it's most likely we'll end up back in or around Vale, there isn't going to be any international transport operational. So, we're going to have to try to get it to take us to Mistral. Unless you want to walk?"

The idea was literally laughable to Pyrrha. Well, to them both. Neither was keen for another long walk through unfriendly territory. Even if it would be aided by Aura this time.

"On the off chance that I don't come back," started Markus.

The downright terrified look on Pyrrha's face gave him cause to try to further reassure her of the low odds of that outcome, "It's highly unlikely to happen, but if this goes badly, you need to know what to do."

The Courier had known that bringing this up was something that would scare Pyrrha. He didn't blame her. After what had happened to Christine, even he would have been terrified to be trapped in the Big Empty. But, he couldn't guarantee the success of the Think Tank. As well, he simply couldn't totally trust them, despite putting his life in their hands repeatedly.

"First, try to get the Think Tank to fix it. Give them some vagaries that boil down to the fact that I sent you to try and get me back. Give them no indication that I might in any way be incapacitated."

Pyrrha nodded, looking a bit shocked by the whole hypothetical. Still, in the Courier's view, it was necessary. He was not going to let her die a pretty terrible death just because he neglected to account for the event that one of the Think Tank's inventions did not work correctly.

"Here," he handed her the oddly shaped spheroid, "This is a modified pulse grenade. If they prove to be uncooperative, threaten them with it. If they are outright hostile, don't hesitate to kill them."

"Kill them?" Pyrrha said.

"Yes. Or else they'll kill you and then use your body to kill a whole lot more people. Remember what I told you: The Think Tank were terrible people before they went insane and had their brains transplanted into robots. The main reason that they do what I say is out of fear. If they think I'm dead, they'll eventually find their way out of here."

Pyrrha just looked sort of traumatized at the prospect.

"Any questions?"

Any look of fear or trepidation had vanished from Pyrrha's expression. All that remained was a sort of resigned determination.

"If I have to kill them, what then?"

"Then," said the Courier, handing her the Transportalponder, "Use this."

He could have said more about the subject, but both of them knew it was unnecessary. If it ever got to that point, all bets were off.

"Okay," said Pyrrha solemnly.

"There was one more thing," said Markus, "about once we get back."

The Courier knew he would have to approach this carefully. No one was keen to lie to their friends, especially about something as large as this where simple omission would not do the job.

"When we return, people are going to wonder what happened to us. I think it's best if we don't try to explain all this," he gestured in a vaguely all encompassing manner, "to them."

Pyrrha nodded in affirmation after only the slightest hesitation.

"Alright then. What should we tell them?"

Pyrrha had agreed far more readily than he was expecting. Easily enough that as long as it remained unexplained it worried him. However, Pyrrha's question required enough attention that he was unable to give her swift agreement much further thought.

The question as to what their excuse for being gone was, was a highly significant one. Markus knew that Pyrrha was by no means a skilled liar. Therefore the excuse needed to be one that they couldn't be extensively questioned on. The best strategy was to give as little information as they could get away with. Altogether, this came out as a rather tall order.

There was a moment of awkward silence while the Courier tried to come up with an elegant solution to this problem.

Then, quite fortunately, inspiration struck. All good lies start from the truth after all.

"We'll tell them that we used an experimental teleportation device," Pyrrha raised an eyebrow, "to escape from the top of the CCT tower and it stranded us in the middle of the Remnant wilderness. With the CCT network down, we had no way to contact anyone. We had to walk all the way to Mistral."

"That… ," said Pyrrha, "That should work."

"Alright then. Now, since we have a few hours until we can return to Remnant, we should see about your gear."

"My gear?" asked Pyrrha.

"Since we're here, we might as well give it some upgrades, and make sure your weapons are up to Remnant's standards."


	180. Chapter 180 - The Black Rifle

Chapter 180 - The Black Rifle

"Is this needed? I should be able to recreate my own weapons shortly after we return," said Pyrrha.

"As you no doubt remember, things are getting more serious on Remnant," said the Courier, "Considering what happened to Vale and how long we've been gone, we should not count on anything. We may need to do some fighting sooner than either of us would like."

The Courier carefully picked up the M14 from where it had been leaning against the wall of the Sink.

"The first thing I can do is attach an imaging device that will allow you to utilize both night vision and infrared."

Pyrrha nodded, clearly considering the tactical applications of the improvement.

"Good. That should help even the odds against the White Fang."

That reminded him. It would be best to try to get his entire team, and probably team RWBY as well, some proper night vision optics. Considering that it was an inherent advantage for the Faunus, they were likely to attempt to make use of it at some point.

The Courier moved over to the actual weapons workbench. Here were more heavy duty tools designed for making serious structural modifications as well as many of the necessary machines are parts for creating weapons from scratch.

"The most basic of modifications," the Courier explained, "in the style of Remnant, would be to have a sort of spring operated bayonet."

Pyrrha followed him over and nodded thoughtfully at his words.

"If the body under the barrel is deepened there," the Courier pointed to a spot under the muzzle, in the location devices would be attached to a weapon that had a lower rail, "A bayonet could easily be concealed in the body, opening and deploying by spring activation. In order to close any way but manually, it would need a motor, which would probably have to be powered by a fission battery."

While Pyrrha appeared to be following what he was saying, the Courier was mainly thinking out loud at this point.

"Of course, the entire thing has to be designed with fail safes in mind. If the motor stops functioning, it must be able to be closed manually, and the spring must be in an easy to access, repair, and, if necessary, replace area."

Logistically, it was looking to be a bit of a nightmare. It did appear to be possible and, more importantly, the end result would not be hideously impractical.

"Wouldn't it just be easier to have it transform into a sword?" Pyrrha said wryly.

The Courier shook his head, answering her half-joke seriously.

"I'm trying to get as few moving parts as possible."

"Why?"

He supposed the idea was alien to Remnant. Their focus on individuality had lead to design decisions based on individual performance rather than on the basis of logistics and procurement. The ability to use Aura to mitigate damage to weapons was also likely a contributing factor. However, that wouldn't totally negate issues of even small particles being capable of seizing up the entire system. There was no doubt that part of it was cultural. Huntsmen were expected to be deployed on a mission basis, not sent deep into the field for extended periods while supply officers had to figure out how to get them the spare parts, food, and ammo they need. Thus, weapons development was driven by features rather than mass armament of reliable, easy to maintain weapons. Evidently, Remnant's arms manufacturers had yet to derive Murphy's Law.

"Every part is a point of failure. The more that can go wrong, the more likely something will, and therefore the more frequently something will go wrong."

"I've never really had problems before."

"Of course not, you've never been in a firefight for eighteen hours either. I'll take a wild guess and say you've never been outside of civilization for an extended period either. Every joint is you need to ensure won't rust, ensure that nothing that could impede its movement gets in there. If you tried carrying a weapon from Remnant over the course of our little journey, you would spend more time maintaining it than the time it was operational."

The Courier was not berating Pyrrha about the shortcomings of Remnant's weapons. They were designed for a very specific purpose and, as was evidenced by their usage, fulfilled that purpose to a satisfactory degree. They were meant to be used for a short time, in circumstances largely predetermined. What they were not designed for, was a war. And if the situation on Remnant continued to deteriorate, they needed to be prepared.

"Doesn't the Aura we channel into our weapons protect them?"

"To a degree but it can't stop things from getting stuck in the gears. In any case, manufacturing capabilities are a bit limited here. Once we're back on Remnant, we can do more. Ideally, everyone else could be properly equipped as well. For now though, the point is to ensure that you will be capable of defending yourself, even if everything goes wrong."

The Courier then set about modifying the M14 as he had specified. The process was a relatively quick one, considering he had a virtual armory stored in the Sink to source parts from in addition to the relative straightforward nature of the task. There was one other thing that Pyrrha needed to be informed about for reasons of her safety.

"The alloy this bayonet is made of is called Saturnite. This is the sharpest metal in existence. The interior casing of the bayonet is going to be specially reinforced to prevent damage. If you drop this bayonet on the floor, it will embed itself to the hilt. So, don't touch it."

Pyrrha looked at the blade with what looked to be a small amount of anxiety. Sort of the way one looked at a mini nuke with a timer attached but wasn't moving yet.

"Aura means it's not that dangerous though, right?" she asked.

As was the case far too often, Markus had not really taken Aura into account. It was something that he needed to do more when considering things on a theoretical or conceptual level.

"Um, yes. Well, probably anyway. I haven't exactly tested how incredibly sharp things interact with Aura. Aura should make it not quite as deadly, but I would still advise against touching it if at all possible."

The way Aura worked was still something that was poorly understood, as was how Saturnite functioned. Until they were known quantities, it was probably best not to tempt fate.

"One last thing, you're going to need to tell me how you want it balanced."

The additions to the weapon in the form of both bayonet and optics as well as the internal changes that had accompanied them meant that the M14 had an entirely different weight distribution than was normal. Beyond that, it was also meant to conform to the sort of balance that Pyrrha was used to in melee combat. Considering her prior experience, it was likely that she would use it as a spear rather than adhering to more conventional bayonet drill.

While the Courier had said "one last thing," that was not entirely accurate. In truth, there was still much more to do to prepare Pyrrha for returning to a potentially more dangerous Remnant than they had left. But, it was the last thing they would do for her rifle. There were still hours left before the Transportalponder would be ready. And he hadn't even gotten started on her "armor."


	181. Chapter 181 - Contingency

Chapter 181 - Contingency

"Now, armor," said the Courier.

"I'm not going to keep wearing this," Pyrrha said, gesturing at the Dragonskin armor that still looked mildly comical to the him.

Markus couldn't tell whether that was because of how she actually looked in an objective sense or whether it was because of the fact that he knew Pyrrha. But, he was willing to cede the point.

Wearing armor that looked appropriate for a firefight through a bombed out apartment building was all well and good in a place like Earth where such situations were common, but on Remnant, wearing that level of protection would lead simply to the assumption that the wearer was incredibly paranoid. No, the armor would need to be more subtle. Well, subtle by Remnant standards. Markus was fairly certain the word wasn't in the planet's vocabulary. The incessantly vibrant colors made it clear that there was no place for applying military science there.

"As far as armor goes, it needs to be as heavy as practicable," said the Courier, dematerializing and laying out the Veteran Ranger Armor he had acquired earlier.

"Do I really need better armor? I've always been fine with what I used before," asked Pyrrha hesitantly.

The Courier met her eyes.

"Once your Aura is gone, armor matters just as much as it does here. Quite literally, life and death is decided by one bullet. If you can survive one more than the other guy, your overall life expectancy improves drastically."

"Won't its weight impeded my movement?" said Pyrrha, walking over to stand closer to the workbench where he was laying the materials out.

"No, you'll get used to it. Aura should be able compensate for it with little adjustment. You might not be able to jump quite as high, but considering how it improves your odds of survival, and eases my conscience, it's hardly an issue."

Pyrrha turned to face him fully.

"You don't need to keep worrying about my safety," she said, putting a hand on her hip.

"The contrary has been proven consistently," the Courier deadpanned.

While the Courier enjoyed being sarcastic, this was a fairly serious subject, so he felt it necessary to add some more genuine words.

"Besides, you're my responsibility. If you die, I have to feel bad about it."

"Well, then, let's get started. We wouldn't want to deprive you of an eased conscience."

The Courier brought out a two hundred year old piece of design paper and an equally old pencil. He then hunched over the paper and set about drawing and writing, narrating an overview of his plans to Pyrrha, who was watching with mildly impressed interest.

"Proper boots with the necessary degree of traction, gloves that preserve manual dexterity and can seal with the sleeves, full body covering, flame resistant, waterproof, chemical weapons proof, and mostly bullet resistant."

The armor itself would be made mostly of cannibalized Veteran Ranger Armor combined, though mostly in a cosmetic sense, Pyrrha's Remnant clothes. Together, they should make something Remnant appropriate, but also an item with tactical value.

"Mostly bullet resistant? It hardly soundly like it's worth it," said Pyrrha.

"Well, it's the difference between having a chance to survive and not."

She shrugged in acknowledgement.

"I suppose that when it is life or death, I will take any advantage I can get," Pyrrha frowned, "I don't know how common that will be on Remnant."

"More common than I would like it seems. Based on recent events, it doesn't seem that Remnant is getting any safer. Not that it's really relevant to us, considering looking for trouble is part of the job description."

"It seems like things are only getting worse over there," said Pyrrha gloomily.

"Well, it'll never be as bad as over here," said Markus, trying to provide at least a minor brightside to the situation.

Pyrrha nodded and looked away pensively. Markus didn't know what to say, and so continued working in silence. It was a little while before he spoke again.

"Ideally, you should be wearing a helmet in combat."

Pyrrha let out a sigh, but the Courier continued before she could get a word in edgewise.

"However, it's unlikely for a helmet to stop a bullet, and given it's unlikely for shrapnel to be a major concern, you should be alright without one. However, I would recommend carrying it with you."

"Isn't that going to be a major hassle, trying to carry around a helmet while fighting?"

"Hmm, yes," said Markus, he saw the writing on the wall and was well aware of the implications of trying to design something in the interests of portability as opposed to protective function, "I should be able to make it portable, but that will sacrifice a lot of its defensive value. If it gets hit hard enough, it might just fall apart."

"Do it."

The Courier nodded, but did not look up from the design documents, still drawing up the designs ask he spoke.

"Needs to form a seal with the rest of the armor and be durable enough not to have its integrity compromised the second anything touches it. Filters will have to be internal, and it will need to cover the whole head. Might be a good idea to carry around some sealant incase you need to make field repairs. You don't want a leak at a poor time."

The Courier realized that it was uncommon to encounter circumstances in which Pyrrha's Aura would be depleted but the fight would still be even enough that armor would save her. Therefore he focused more on increasing survivability for things that Aura simply could not compensate for.

"Why are you so worried about dangerous chemicals? The enemy have never used them."

"No, but they might, or we might. I It's the best way to get around Aura. Protection from physical damage is worthless when you can't breath or the stuff attacks the nervous system directly."

The Courier was keen to give no hints that he was responsible for a large number of people having choked to death on a poison gas that he had used. Pyrrha's reaction to the prospect of their use at all was more than enough reason to do so.

There were several minutes of moderately awkward silence as the Courier continued devising the schematics and materials needed to manufacture this armor before they left.

Suddenly, he stopped writing, and straightened from the design paper he had been hunched over, and turned to Pyrrha.

"Does it have to be red?"

Pyrrha seemed a bit surprised by the question.

"Um, no? Why?"

"Because it's just about the most noticeable color in world," said the Courier flatly.

"But… I like red."

"Why? So no one can see you bleed?"

"No," said Pyrrha, a bit defensively, "It's just a nice color."

"Perhaps a darker red then?"

Pyrrha thought about it for a second.

"Alright."

Markus was silently relieved she had agreed. While he was never going to convince her to put proper camouflage on her clothing, dull colors and matte paint would go some way in making her harder to spot.

Now though, the design phase was done. All that was left was to actually assemble it. The Courier had the tools and the materials and most importantly, the time. A couple of hours later, and the armor had been put together. He had made sure Pyrrha was present for the process of its creation. WHile he didn't have time to properly explain everything, it did give her an overview as to the structure of her armor, hopefully providing her with enough information to be beneficial in maintenance and repair.

"Well, there it is," said Markus, looking at the rather ignoble pile that was the product of all this effort.

"I'm off to try to get the device and see if I can get us to Mistral. In the meantime, I'd recommend you get changed."

Pyrrha nodded and he walked to the elevator.

If all went well, they'd be back on Remnant within the hour, but, the Courier had been around for far too long to have any expectation of everything going well. Especially when the Brains were involved. He always felt lucky they didn't accidentally atomize him.


	182. Chapter 182 - Philistine

Chapter 182 - Philistine

The Courier had been hesitant to use the Transportalponder. He had good reason to be, considering his history with the device. Even after extensive grilling of the Brains about the nature of the repairs done, he was not remotely comfortable with using it. But he wasn't comfortable with most of the things he did, and this instance was no different. He didn't like it, but it had to be done. Still, that didn't preclude paranoid levels of precautions and more reasonable measures as well.

The principle among these was switching to his power armor. The Transportalponder MK. II looked comically small in the white gauntlet that held it. Of all the measures the Courier had taken to ensure that this wouldn't kill him, the power armor was ironically the most necessary. Despite looking excessive, considering the way the Transportalponder functioned, he had good reason to use it. The last place it had been used was on a tower that had since been reduced to a crater or at least a pile of rubble. If the Transportalponder returned him to where the top of the CCT tower had been, he would need his power armor to survive.

Despite the way the Transportalponder MK. II was meant to work, the Courier had little faith in actually ending up back on the CCT tower or even in the air above its rubble, for that matter. The reason it had been deemed too dangerous to use was that it was consistently placing him in the wrong location and even placing him in the wrong time. Though the Brains assured him that this was now fixed, the navigational data from his last position was quite likely messed up. He would consider it a resounding success if he ended up anywhere on Remnant at all.

And so, very, very, gingerly, the gauntleted hand clenched around the Transportalponder and waited.

The wait, as it always was in these sort of situations, was agonizing. Uncertainty in matters of life and death always led to two things: fear and annoyance. While his choice of profession had necessitated getting good at ignoring both in term of decision making they were, like all the other things the Courier ignored, still very much still present. Then, the Lone Courier finally found himself somewhere that looked familiar.

The fact that he found himself anywhere at all was a cause for celebration. The Transportalponder had not killed him, either directly or indirectly. While it could have destroyed him in any number of ways, it could also have sent him somewhere totally unsurvivable. Instead, Markus had ended up somewhere that used to be very, very green. Unfortunately, before he could think anything more about this, he was thrown forward, very, very hard.

He completely knocked over the tree he struck, landing face first on its now collapsed and slightly crushed trunk. Immediately, the Courier knew he was in deep shit. Anything capable of throwing him, in power armor, that hard and that far was not something to be dealt with lightly. He hadn't taken much physical damage at least, not anything that wouldn't be fixed within a few minutes. The armor was pretty well insulated against this sort of force. More importantly though, the fact that he had taken any physical damage meant that his Aura had been depleted. The Courier realized he had no way of seeing this and figured that he should sync a readout of it to his armor in the future. For now though, he needed to focus on not taking another hit.

Reacting as quickly as he could, the Courier stood and turned to see that his earlier assessment of the situation could be considered accurate, if a bit of an understatement.

In that instant, there was little doubt that he had ended up on Remnant. He had been very lightly hit by a Goliath. The elephantine Grimm towered menacingly above him. Worse still, it was immediately evident it was not alone. The huge looming shapes of the herd were all around him. Shit.

Of fucking course he would end up directly in the middle of a group of largest Grimm known to man. Now, what he needed to do was get out of here sooner than was possible. He just needed to activate the Transportalponder. The Courier looked down at his empty right hand. Typical.

He realized that he must have let go of it during his flight. He supposed that was preferable to accidentally crushing it in a power armor assisted death grip, but he was still in a bad way. Speaking of "a bad way," the Goliath was apparently getting ready to properly charge him, looking absolutely infuriated. The Courier didn't really have any appropriate response to that other than to feverishly scan for the now very small device somewhere on the forest ground, amongst the dead leaves and shrubbery. The Goliath started charging.

Markus couldn't find his ticket back to safety and a Goliath was bearing down on him. Great. Well, he needed to solve the more immediate problem well, immediately. As the Goliath charged at him, head askew, tusks ready to swing, he waited, not moving an inch. He was fully aware of the fact that the initial hit he had received was nothing more than the light tap of something surprised by movement. Now, it was mad. A full force hit was quite likely to damage something vital. He couldn't rely on his armor. But, power armor gave more advantages than just durability.

Pushing his reflexes to their maximum, the Courier waited until the last possible second before springing forward, bolting ahead to the tusks and through both sets of legs. The weakness of this thing was that it had few methods of attack. He had sufficient maneuverability to keep out of its way.

Considering the arsenal contained in his Pip-Boy, the Courier certainly could have found a way to bring the beast down. However he recognized it as a fruitless endeavor, given the many other creatures that would take its place. Every second was critical to his survival. How the Kingdoms dealt with these Goliaths was something he really wanted to know.

He knew he only had as long as it took for enough of them to get together and corner him. Practically speaking, the Courier knew he didn't even have that long. He needed to get the Transportalponder back before the needs of battle forced him away from the area that he had lost it in.

The Goliath turned, faster than it should have been able to, but slow enough that the Courier was able to dart around its right side to continue his search for the Transportalponder.

He found it a lot sooner than he thought he would, but still later than he would have liked; it was behind where he had landed, meaning he hadn't been able to see it while facing the Goliath.

The Courier tried to run for the device, but was forced to dive to the right and execute an awkward roll in that direction to avoid being skewered or trampled. Still, he quickly regained his feet and continued towards his goal with narrow minded determination. Unless he reached it, he was quite simply dead. In after what seemed like an eternity, he reached it and pulled the trigger. Of course, now he still needed to keep himself alive until it activated. Not too difficult, considering how long it took to activate. Then again, a Goliath was bearing down on him.

His first tactic was simply to run into difficult terrain. However the fact that the Goliath trampled almost unimpeded through heavy trees stymied his efforts as he was forced to turn as quickly as he could and move at an angle forty-five degree off of the opposite direction so as to force the Goliath to turn. The slow turning speed was his saving grace. Just as he planned another maneuver to hinder the pursuit of Goliath, the Courier suddenly found himself in much more colorless surroundings, his adrenaline still pumping.

Well, that was over. The Transportalponder had worked. One thing was clear though. They weren't getting back that way. He would need to get the Brains to figure out how to get the Transportalponder to drop them somewhere less Grimm infested. Actually, the Courier would settle for somewhere of equal density of Grimm, provided they weren't twenty stories tall. The Courier wasn't picky.


	183. Chapter 183 - The Return

Chapter 183 - The Return

Progress towards forcing the Transportalponder to take them to Mistral, or anywhere near civilization had hit something of a dead end.

"So you're telling me there's no way you can get a point of reference?"

"THAT IS CORRECT."

"I could put some sort of transponder there," he suggested.

"WE WOULD NEED AT LEAST TWO TRANTEPONDERS AND A VERY ACCURATE MAP OF THE PLANET AND THE LOCATIONS THAT YOU PUT THEM."

The Courier was far too bothered by the whole situation to pay any attention to how much Klein's volume annoyed him. This was a situation that he simply had to find a solution to. While hypothetically, he and Pyrrha could attempt to escape from the Goliaths and take the long way to Mistral, he didn't like their chances. He had barely even made it back and he had power armor. No, trying to take on a herd of Goliaths was not a good idea. He needed something better.

"Do any of the eyebots you sent have transponders?"

He was grasping at straws at this point.

"NO."

He was not remotely surprised. The Courier began to pace back in forth, in front of the Think Tank.

Of course the Think Tank wouldn't have thought to put any means of locating the eyebots they had sent to God-knows-where in hopes of contacting him. That would have only been too easy.

The Courier was starting to feel a bit awkward by the amount of pacing he had done without coming up with anything new and the frustrated energy that had possessed him to undertake the pointless action had almost faded to a feeling of futility and resignation when he very nearly tripped over the answer. Well, a potential answer, but that was far better than anything else he had.

"Klein, the pylons," said the Courier haltingly, "Can you get the location of its destination from them and get the Transportalponder to take us to them?"

"HOW WOULD I DERIVE THE LOCATION FROM SNAKES?"

"Snakes? Klein, what are you talking about?"

"YOU SAID SNAKES. WHERE ARE THE SNAKES?"

The Courier had absolutely no clue what Klein was talking about. He just stared at the Think Tank wordlessly. Oddly enough, it was one of the other Brains that ended up rescuing him from this farce of a situation.

"Uh Klein?," said Dr. Borous, "He said "pylons" not "pythons."

It appeared that the Courier had forgotten to account for Klein's issues with words. He wasn't sure whether it was a mechanical problem, one of memory, or just some form of dementia that was finally starting to set in after a couple hundred years. Perhaps it was a result of Mobius's meddling. While it was dangerous to have the head of the Think Tank not completely functional in understanding the English language, the Courier was unwilling to try to repair him on the off chance he might do too good of a job and undo Mobius's work. Setting the Think Tank loose was something he simply could not risk. In any case, Klein hopefully now understood what he meant.  
"PYLONS!"

"Yes, Klein," said the Courier tiredly, "the pylons. Will it work?"

"ABSOLUTELY. MAYBE. WE WILL SEE."

"Just do it."

He had nearly forgotten how difficult it was to get the Think Tank to do anything specific. Forcing them to keep focus was an ordeal.

The Brains all hovered over to the pylons. They were talking to one another, but the Courier couldn't' find it in him to pay attention to what they were saying. Instead, he pinched the bridge of his nose and tried to fend off his impending headache.

Fortunately for his sanity, he did not have long to wait.

"IT WILL WORK," said Klein.

"Good," said Markus, walking over to the pylons, "So, how do I do this?"

Dr. 0 spoke, "Just take that little circuit board and swap it with the one in the Transportalponder MK. II."

"Won't that take the pylons offline?" asked the Courier, looking up.

"Yes, however this is the speediest method. Another board can be manufactured while you are away."

"Alright then."

Satisfied, the Courier popped open the Transportalponder and carefully removed the circuit board before replacing it with the one from the pylons. He kept the original in his Pip-Boy. He didn't want the pylons to end up linked to a herd of Goliaths. It probably wouldn't have done any harm, but probably was not good enough odds for him to be satisfied with.

He noted that the two chips appeared totally identical. At least there were only two of them, otherwise it might become difficult to keep track of which was which. Such idle thoughts were driven from his mind as he closed up the Transportalponder. Now, everything was set for a return to Remnant. This time, it would put him where he had left the pylons. Which was in a warehouse near Vale. Well, it wasn't Mistral by any means. But it would do. With the help of Aura, he had every confidence in their ability to make it to Mistral.

With that concluded, the Courier thanked the Think Tank and returned to the elevator, switching back to Benny's suit. If he was returning to Vale, he needed to look the part.

Stepping out of the elevator and into the Sink, the first thing he saw was Pyrrha wearing the new armor for the first time.

It wasn't exactly as flattering as her previous outfit had been, given that all skin from the neck down was completely covered and almost her entire body shape was concealed by even the thinnest pieces of solid armor. He noticed the collapsed form of the helmet strapped to her thigh. The armor was mostly maroon in color with similar bronze accents, though the Courier had insisted they be matte in sheen. Despite the practical features, there still remained enough of the aesthetic intent that the outfit would not look particularly out of place in Remnant.

"Bad news," said Markus, "This," he shook the Transportalponder, "will only get us to Vale."

Pyrrha nodded, looking relieved. It took Markus a moment to realize why she looked relieved at bad news. The news could have been much, much worse.

"So we're going to have to take a long walk?"

"It looks like it. At least this time you're dressed for it."

"And more importantly," said Pyrrha, positively beaming for the first time in what seemed like months, "I'll have Aura."

"So, are you ready?" asked Markus, holding out the Transportalponder.

"Of course," said Pyrrha, lightly grabbing his forearm.

Markus pulled the trigger and the Transportalponder activated.

 **AN:** Sorry for the delay, I was trying to see if I could get around this, but there doesn't seem to be. Unfortunately, this story is going to have to go on hiatus again. Part of it is because I want to know more about what's going to happen in canon to plan properly, and partly just so that I can make my own plans for the next arc. There may still be updates to this story, but for now, regular updates are on hiatus.


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